


Back to the Start

by Wild_Roses



Series: In Your Company [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Trainee Draco Malfoy, Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Slow Burn (Sort Of)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wild_Roses/pseuds/Wild_Roses
Summary: Waking up in St.Mungo's with a terrible headache and Draco Malfoy hovering over him was confusing enough. Turns out, though, Harry's been obliviated and is missing 16 months of his life - months in which he had somehow gone and fallen in love with Malfoy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: In Your Company [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868077
Comments: 104
Kudos: 236





	1. The Year 2000

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Shameful Company, and while it would probably heighten the angst to give that a read first, it should make sense as a stand alone if you'd prefer. 
> 
> If you are coming from reading Shameful Company: Welcome!! Also, I am sorry. I promise this will be much less of a slow burn!
> 
> Unfortunately, at least for the next little while, updates will not be regular. I have about 30000 words so far, but need to work on organizing scenes and plot before I can post regularly. I wanted to get the first chapter up for anyone coming from the previous work who is interested in subscribing though :) and I'm working hard on getting it pulled together so regular updates can begin!
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

_I’m going back to the start_

_-The Scientist, Coldplay_

A thumping pain enveloped Harry as he regained a fuzzy form of consciousness. Where was he hurt? Fuck… everywhere it seemed. His head more than most other places, perhaps. Not ready to open them, Harry squeezed his eyes closed tighter, testing for his body’s reaction to the movement. There was more pain, but localized to the right side of his face. In fact, Harry realized as he tried to slide his eyes open, the right one was swollen shut.

A blinding light infiltrated his left eye and Harry let out a low groan. Judging by his physical state and the well-lit _whiteness_ he could perceive around him, he was at St. Mungo’s. He didn’t move, fearing the sensations that would come with turning his head for a better look around.

 _“Harry?_ ” A voice, only a little familiar, asked with an edge of desperation.

It was soon followed by a blurry face which hovered above him. Between his swollen eye and his lack of glasses, Harry couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. Hands moved up to hover hesitantly by Harry’s jaw line, as though their owner wanted to hold his face, but was concerned about causing him more pain. Harry was grateful for the caution, he was quite certain even the gentlest touch would be incredibly painful at the moment. Merlin, what a state he must have been in if this was how he felt even _after_ being checked into hospital and presumably treated by St. Mungo’s finest.

Harry pressed his left eye shut again, hoping for better results on reopening it. His vision did clear, just a little. The face above him looked more familiar now. But if anything, that left Harry more confused and distraught.

“ _Malfoy?_ ” He blurted out, coughing a little at his dry throat.

Long, platinum hair framed grey eyes and sharp features. Malfoy, for sure. The other man’s eyes widened and he pulled his hands away from Harry.

“Harry,” he repeated, looking as though he may be at a loss for words.

“What the fuck? Where am I?” Harry now risked a good look around, wincing as the stiff muscles along his neck resisted the movement. Definitely a hospital. Hopefully actually St. Mungo’s and not some secret hospital run by the Malfoys where they got up to no doubt nefarious things.

Backing away from the bed Harry lay in, Malfoy called out urgently for a healer. Harry couldn’t see them, but they must have been just outside the door because he could pick up on the concerned tone of their murmurs.

A young woman who, though blurry, had a kind look to her approached Harry.

“Mr. Potter, I’m Niamh Brady. You’re safe in St. Mungo’s now. I’m a healer.” She charmed Harry’s glasses to hover just above his face, allowing him to see so long as he kept his head perfectly still. Healer Brady had a soft, round face and auburn hair.

She continued to explain softly, “You were attacked three days ago. We’ve had to keep you unconscious since then, due to brain swelling. We needed time to support your brain to heal. This morning we discontinued the charms, in order to allow you to wake naturally when you were ready. I imagine you’re in some pain, right now. Can we get this potion in you to help before we talk more?”

Harry, who was truly in too much pain to deal with anything else, grunted his assent. With a cool hand at the back of his neck, Niamh supported him to drink the potion, which tasted like mint and licorice and rapidly soothed the pain from its previously violent thumping to more of a dull thrumming.

Nodding with satisfaction, Niamh guided Harry’s head back down to the pillow and continued to hover in his line of sight.

“Where is Ginny?” he asked, panic eking back up. Niamh’s eyes tightened with concern. “Or- or Mrs. Weasley? Or Hermione?”

He just needed a familiar face. Someone who cared for him.

“Harry,” Niamh said gently, “I need to ask you a few questions, to assess how your brain is healing, before we talk about that. Okay?”

“Kay.” _What the fuck?_ Harry thought, panic taking firm hold of him now. He had never felt so disjointed, so disoriented.

“Do you know where we are?”

“St. Mungo’s.” She just told him that, of course he knows. Merlin.

“And your full name? And birthday?”

This was just irritating. Why couldn’t she tell him what the actual bleeding fuck was going on? “Harry James Potter. July 31, 1980.”

“Grand,” Niamh said with a look of satisfaction. Harry wished he had the range of motion to roll his eyes. “And what is the last thing you remember? What day was it, what were you doing?”

Harry frowned, grasping for the memories. “Er… I remember it was Tuesday, I think. Drizzly and cold, but I left my flat and went out for a walk.”

A helpless whimper sounded from across the room, reminding Harry that _Draco bloody Malfoy_ was there for some utterly inexplicable reason. Harry, uncaring of the glasses that hovered above him, turned his head to catch sight of the man. He was grasping the door frame tightly.

Harry opened his mouth to protest Malfoy’s presence, but Niamh beat him to it. “Wait outside,” she instructed firmly. But why would he be waiting at all? _What the fuck_? Harry thinks again, bewildered and miserable.

“Harry,” she asks in her calm and controlled voice, “what was the date?”

“October tenth or so. It’s not like I’ve been doing much with my days, haven’t been keeping the best track.”

“And the year?”

That question scared Harry more than any other so far. More than the knowledge that he’d been attacked, the details of which he remained concerningly ignorant of. More than waking up to Draco Malfoy.

“1998.”

Niamh bit her lip, appearing to be considering her response. Finally she said, “Harry, I’m sorry. It’s February the 6th, 2000.”

Bile rose in his throat. He felt as though he’d been petrified.

“I’m going to bring in a more senior healer, Harry. We’re going to need to do some more tests. We will figure it out, I promise you.”

Before Niamh left, she propped up the head of Harry’s bed, so he could see the room better. His glasses continued to hover nicely in front of his face. Straining his ears, Harry could hear more strained murmuring outside of the door before - 

“You _are_ going to fix this!” Malfoy’s voice was tense and certainly louder than appropriate in a hospital. He was nearly shouting at poor Niamh.

Harry tried to create a list of reasons that Malfoy might be at the hospital with him. Reasons he might be yelling at the poor healer. Maybe it was Malfoy’s fault that Harry was in the hospital. Maybe _he’d_ attacked Harry. But then, Harry supposed, they Aurors would hardly let him stick around at his bedside. Maybe it was only accidentally Malfoy’s fault and so he felt badly and was trying to make up for it by sticking around the hospital. Harry wished he wouldn’t, if that were the case. His presence was hardly a comfort.

Head aching with the effort of thinking his way through it all, Harry heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. He tried to calculate the number of months he was missing before giving up altogether and dimly sorting his way through his different senses. The room he was in smelled astringent, with hints of mint. His mouth was dry, stale. The cotton blanket pulled up over his waist was lightweight and heavily starched. He only had a moment to regret turning his attention to how his body felt before the healers returned.

An elderly man in the dusky blue robes of a healer accompanied Niamh. He shifted a table covered in flowers and candies out of the way, and towered above Harry in a way that Harry knew wasn’t _supposed_ to feel ominous but most certainly did. Harry observed the hairs sticking out of his prominent nose while he cast a series of charms that glinted in the air above Harry.

He sighed a heavy sigh and belatedly introduced himself to Harry as Healer Cunningham. If your name includes the word _cunning_ \- you must be a Slytherin graduate- right? Harry pondered this thought giddily, feeling so tired, even though he had just woken from a three day coma.

Healer Cunningham looked to Niamh to deliver the news. Which was either a kindness to Harry or the shunting of a terrible burden to Niamh. Because once she was finished telling him, Harry realized that he has lost his life, irretrievably.

“Harry, I’m so sorry. It seems that your memory loss is not just a temporary loss from your concussion. You’ve been obliviated.”

\---


	2. Part 1; Ch. 2 The Story of Your Life

Part 1

_Nobody said it was easy_   
_No one ever said it would be this hard_   
_Oh take me back to the start_

_-The Scientist, Coldplay_

The healers had put Harry back to sleep after delivering the news. As he faded off, he remembered Niamh saying that Healer Cunningham needed to be the one to deliver the news to Harry’s partner. The last of Harry’s consciousness was spent on wondering who she meant by that. He must have joined the Aurors after all. He wondered who his partner was.

Harry woke to hushed voices and immediately realized that he needed to eavesdrop. He’d had enough experience with people trying to shelter him to know that now, when he’d lost his memory, was definitely one of those times that people would do that.

Hermione’s quiet voice brought a rush of relief to him. The other voice took Harry a moment longer to pinpoint. It was male, but delicate, prim and proper.

“I saw the Prophet, this morning,” Malfoy said.

“It’s trash,” Hermione declared in her most no nonsense voice.

There was moment of silence.

“The healers have told me I need to remove myself from the situation, for now.” Malfoy said, clearly deciding he didn’t want to discuss whatever it was the Prophet had to say after all. “That it will be too much of a strain on Harry to have me around. That someone who he trusts deeply should explain it all to him.”

“I know,” Hermione replied. Harry wished he could see her warm brown eyes.

“So you’ll do it?” Malfoy’s voice was tight.

“Yes.” Harry heard a shifting noise before Hermione continued, “But Draco, just for now. I don’t think it is a good idea to just- just _stay_ away.”

“I bought this, for next week.” Malfoy replied, voicing another thought which seemed rather disjointed to Harry. “It’s our anniversary, in a way… I thought… Might have been too soon, anyways.”

Hermione’s single, soft, “ _Oh_ ,” is full of compassion.

Despite all his experience faking sleep while others talked about him, this was a test for Harry. Somewhere deep inside him he held a dreadful understanding of what Malfoy was talking about. _Anniversary_?

Something in Harry’s demeanor tipped Malfoy off. “He’s awake,” he informed Hermione. “Will you ask if he’d like me to take Gandalf or if he’d rather have him at home when he goes back?”

“Of course. And Oscar?”

“Oscar,” Malfoy replied wryly, “Will do whatever he wants. But I suppose it’d be a good idea to give Harry a heads up about that. And I’ve briefed Kreacher on everything and what the next couple of weeks might look like at home.”

Harry kept his face neutral as he listened to Malfoy get to his feet and walk away. “Goodbye, Harry,” he said in a tone that panged oddly at Harry’s heart.

Harry remained still for a few more moments, until Hermione called him out. When he opened his eyes to see her, he was pleased to find he could open both eyes this time. And overall, he hurt quite a lot less. Nonetheless, he was grateful when Hermione offered him a pain potion, explaining that the healer had left it for him to take on waking.

“Where’s Ginny?” Harry asked, feeling as though she really ought to be by his side. “Hogwarts?”

Hermione pulled her chair closer to Harry’s bedside and settled his glasses onto his face, where they were now able to rest comfortably. Picking up his hand in her own, she tilted her head to the side and studied him cautiously before answering.

“No, we’ve all finished with school. She’s off flying with the Harpies. Bucharest this week, I think.”

“Oh. And Ron?”

“He was here earlier. He’s had to go to a training seminar. He’s becoming an Auror.” Hermione gestured to the bedside table which was crowded with colourful flowers and confectionaries. “The lilies are from Ginny. Peonies from Molly and Arthur. Candy’s from Ron, George. Neville, too, I think. The card with the very imaginative portrait of you is from Teddy, I think Dromeda drew the stick men and he just scribbled it in.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked at the table and its bounties. On Teddy’s card, there was a stick man whose head was engulfed in sunshine yellow standing next to stick Harry (his head was invisible behind an ominous cloud of black).

Hermione, looking as nervous as Harry himself felt, shifted her hand to hold his more tightly and a sharp poke drew his attention. A glimmering diamond ring adorned her finger.

“You’re engaged?” He asked, delighted enough that he nearly forgot his own predicament, before realizing with a plunging dread that not everything might be as it seems. “To Ron, right?”

“Yes,” she smiled gently. “To Ron.”

“How did he afford that ring?”

Hermione’s eyes danced with amusement. Harry knew it was ridiculous that _that_ was one of the first questions he asked after waking with a large amount of memory loss. Probably rude, too.

“Apparently he’s been hoarding his knuts and sickles like a dragon for years. And the Order of Merlin First Class we received last May came with a bit of an honorarium.”

“When will the wedding be?”

“Next July,” Hermione replied. “You went dress shopping with me a couple of weeks ago. I’ll find the photograph and show it to you later, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Are you ready to hear about your life, Harry?”

Harry met his friend’s eyes pleadingly. A cowardly part of him wanted to say no. No, he absolutely did not. He wanted to pretend he’d never lost his memory and just go on as if he didn’t miss a beat. To go home to his warm flat with the twinkling string lights and the photos of his friends. Never mind that he _did_ remember feeling rather miserable in that life, with all his friends back at Hogwarts and the weight of the war dragging on him.

“Chronological order, I think. I’ll keep it to the basic facts for now. Alright?”

Harry nodded and Hermione ran her thumb across the back of his hand as she began to tell him the story of his life.

“Last year, just shortly after the last date you recall, you were attacked by dementors in muggle London.”

Harry interrupted, shaking his head, “No, I remember that.”

Hermione shook her head in response. “It happened twice. The second time you were caught by surprise. Draco Malfoy was nearby though, just having been to a muggle bank, and he managed to conjure a non-corporeal patronus. He saved you.” She paused, letting that sink in with Harry, before continuing on. “Between your own encounters and news reports you’d seen, the two of you realized that there was a serious problem with dementors invading muggle areas of London following the war. Draco was sure that he could figure out a way to destroy them, and so you began to work together.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, ignoring that his right eye still stung with the movement. “Why the bloody hell would I do that?”

Hermione shrugged, with a rueful smile. “You were bored? You’ve got a hero complex?”

Scowling at her teasing tone, Harry motioned for her to continue her story.

“Not long before Christmas, you tried to test a method to destroy a dementor, and it went poorly. Malfoy was drained of magic, and very injured. You saved him, that time. You called Molly who treated his injuries. Unfortunately, you and Malfoy ended up on the front page of the Prophet, accompanied with a rather salacious article.”

Dread wound its way through Harry’s vital organs.

“You were livid- not about the article, but about the way Draco endangered himself. You refused to work with him for a while. Anyways, your partnership was out of the bag, and you had to spend Christmas doing some explaining to Ginny, Ron and I.”

_Partnership._ Was Malfoy the ‘partner’ that Niamh had referred to earlier?

“Around this time last year, Harry, you and Ginny ended your relationship.” Harry felt a loss at hearing this. Ginny. Bright, beautiful Ginny. That small grief was nothing compared to the feelings that overtook him when Hermione said, “And you came out as gay.”

He choked on his own spit. Hermione had to spend a minute rubbing his back and supporting him to gulp back water before Harry was able to sit back and process that.

“ _Oh_.”

He was, too.

As soon as Hermione said it, he had to acknowledge it. The truth of it washed over him in an overwhelming rush, something like he remembered the Thieves’ Downfall at Gringotts feeling. Harry had just pushed it back, far away for a very long time. Though he was quite sure he hadn’t _really_ known, or allowed himself to know, at least, during the last of his memories.

Hermione met his eyes questioningly, Harry indicated she ought to go on with an unsteady jerk of his chin.

“You and Draco had become good friends. It was developing into more than that. But Draco had an arranged marriage set up, and wasn’t ready to come out as gay himself. Regardless, you continued to work together, and you _did_ find a way to destroy the dementors. You brought Ron and I, and a bunch of other people in to work together on the charm. A charm that used love magic to destroy them.”

Harry swallowed hard, but remained silent.

“Draco got his shit together, after that. The two of you have been in a proper relationship since last April, living together for most of it. You renovated Grimmauld Place and moved in there in July. Draco’s in the Auror training program with Ron. You’ve been working on completing your NEWT level courses.”

“Who is Oscar?”

“Your owl.”

“And Gandalf?”

“The crup puppy you adopted at Christmas time.”

Harry stared flatly at his friend. Her eyes shimmered with tears. “What the fuck, Hermione?”

“I’m so sorry, love.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before carding her hand through his hair as he fought off the prickling of tears and a tumult of emotions.

\---

Hermione didn’t leave Harry’s side until Molly and Arthur arrived to spell her off. After that there was a constant flow of visitors. Everyone who was important in Harry’s life, except apparently, Malfoy. When Ron arrived, in his Auror’s stone grey robe with red sleeves, he looked rather exhausted and worse for the wear. He rushed his parents out and reassured Molly that he’d stay with Harry until visiting hours were over.

“I’m sorry, mate,” he said, looking grim and serious. “But hey,” he brightened a little, “I made a mess of this last time, so now I get a second chance.”

Harry frowned, uncertain where Ron was going but suspecting he was already fumbling through it just as much as the last time. This wasn’t likely to soothe his blinding headache, anyhow.

Ron scooted his chair as close as possible to Harry and gripped Harry’s bicep firmly. “You’re my best mate, yeah? You’re like another brother to me. We’ve been through some wild things. Some mad in the greatest fucking way. Some terrifying and absolute shite. I wouldn’t change a thing of it though if it meant I might not be friends with you. And I know I’ve not always been the easiest bloke to be friends with, but I hope you know how important you are to me. And Hermione, too. So, Harry- will you be my best man?”

Blinking, Harry replied, “Of course, yeah, absolutely!”

Ron beamed, “Brilliant!”

“Did you do better than the last time?” Harry asked in amusement.

Ron unwrapped a chocolate frog from the table next to him and held it, its little legs squirming out between his fingers. “I reckon so. Last time I sort of… forgot to ask. I just told you all the things that I wanted for my stag. Hermione’ll approve of this, at least.”

“Well,” Harry replied with a chuckle. “I’d love to hear what you want for your stag, but can you give me some of that pain potion first?”

\---

The lights on the ward had been dimmed and Harry was lying flat in bed, staring blearily at the roof. He’d tried to sleep. He was certainly tired and the pain potions made his limbs feel as if they were dead weight. But his mind kept cycling around the fact that he was missing well over a year of his life. What do you even do with that knowledge? Ought he to go around tracking down any details he could find? Should he just pretend it never happened? That might be hard given that he was in a long term relationship. Living with Draco Malfoy, an owl, and a puppy.

A slight movement caught his eye, and Harry turned towards his left. The air shimmered and George Weasley appeared, grinning mischievously.

“I snuck past a rather frightening nurse to get in here after hours,” he whispered. “Bloke looked like a bouncer. Shove over, then.

He flapped his freckled hands at Harry until he shifted over in the bed so that George could lay down next to him. His weight on top of the covers tugged them off of Harry, leaving his right side chilled. Harry didn’t care, he was so relieved that someone was here to distract him from pondering how fucked up his life was.

“So this is shite, hey?”

Harry let out an amused huff. After a long moment he asked, “How are you, George? Last I can remember…”

“Well. First thing you need to know is that we’re better friends than you might remember.”

“I remember being friends-” Harry protested.

He’d worked with George all through August to get the shop back open, and had been over there helping him out several mornings a week through what Harry could remember of the fall. George cut him off with a sharp elbow in his ribs.

“Ouch! Haven’t I been assaulted enough recently?”

“Let me tell you,” he insisted, “we’re better friends than we were then. Anyways. To answer your question, I am alright, mostly. As alright as I’ll ever be, I think. Still use you as a buffer for mum, sometimes.

Harry smiled, taking comfort in the balance of steadiness and chaos that only George could pull off.

“No chance this is all just some hallucination brought on by some nutter WWW product you conned me into testing out, is there? Alternate Universe Altoids or something?”

Chuckling darkly, George replied, “No, but that’s a brilliant idea. Thanks, mate.”

“So… Malfoy?”

“Yeah. That must be a mind fuck.”

Harry hummed his agreement. He thought about asking George to tell him more about what he knew of it, then decided he wasn’t ready for all that yet. Instead he said, “Tell me about your life.”

“Well,” George said, voice quiet, but warm, “I’ve started seeing someone. I quite like her.”

Harry woke to the morning sun filtering into his room and Molly sitting quietly next to him knitting. He’d fallen asleep in the middle of George telling him about his new girlfriend; he’d never caught her name.

\---

The most upsetting visit was from Andromeda and Teddy. Teddy, against his grandmum’s protests, ran into Harry’s room and clambered up onto the bed. He patted Harry’s face gently and with a look of great concern.

“Rie?” He asked.

“I told you, darling. He’s been hurt, but he’s going to be alright,” Andromeda said softly, sitting down at the foot of Harry’s bed.

“I’m ok, mate,” Harry said, running a hand through Teddy’s wild turquoise hair.

Stomach clenching, Harry tried to keep a smile on his face for the little boy. Last he could remember, Teddy was six months old. He could sit on his own, and giggle contagiously. But he certainly couldn’t run or climb or-

“Love you!” Teddy said, smacking his lips against Harry’s cheek. He followed the sweet gesture up by asking, “Where Dray?”

Harry’s eyes filled with tears and he looked hopelessly at Andromeda. She gave him a compassionate smile and ran her hand up and down his shin. If this was February, Teddy was nearly two years old.

“Draco’s at work, Teddy. He’ll be by to visit you soon, though. Harry, you and Teddy go to the park together every week. Last week you went to the zoo. Do you remember Teddy?”

Teddy nodded enthusiastically, shifting around on Harry’s lap so he could see both Harry and his grandmum. “Lion RAWR!”

“Good job, Teddy!” Harry said in a stage whisper. “What about snakes?”

“ _Hisssss_! Rie talk snake!”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a chuckle, “Yeah I do.”

He actually hadn’t been sure if he’d still be able to, now that the part of Voldemort that he carried was gone. He was oddly pleased to hear that he still could. Doubly so if it entertained his godson.

“Oscar _Hoooo_!” Teddy said, clearly on a roll now. “Gandy _woof_!”

“Brilliant, Teddy!” Harry exclaimed as Andromeda grinned her approval at the toddler.

When Teddy crawled to the ground to run around imitating different animals, she asked Harry how he was feeling.

“Still a bit of a headache, but loads better than I was yesterday,” he said. “They think I’ll be able to go home by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Molly will settle you in at home?”

“Ron and Hermione, I think. But I’m sure she’ll be around too.”

Nodding her approval, Andromeda said, “I’ve already dropped up a bunch of frozen meals for you. There’s a chili, vegetable soup and a pasta dish in your freezer alright? All labelled with cooking instructions.”

“Thanks, Dromeda. That’s nice of you.”

“And I’m just a floo call away.”

Harry was about to remind Andromeda that he didn’t have the floo, before it occurred to him that he was the one in need of reminding. His stomach clenched again.

Finally he managed, “I appreciate it.”

He turned to snag Teddy as he ran past, and pulled him back up on the bed, into a bear hug.

“Missed you, Teddy.” It was close enough, Harry figured. 

\---

Ginny came that afternoon. She pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek and told him that she still loved him, just differently. And that they were both much happier than they’d been together. Harry wasn’t sure whether that was hurtful or a relief.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While the Fellowship of the Ring film didn't come out until 2001, at the time this story takes place filming was underway. I imagine that Harry and Draco would've liked to add a twist to the theme of naming their pets after gay icons by naming their puppy after the wizard played by Sir Ian McKellen :)
> 
> I'm working to pull the plot of this story in order so I can post more frequently, but will aim for about every two weeks atm.


	3. Coming Home

A serious-faced middle aged man regarded Harry where he lay in his hospital bed. Harry had begged the Mungo’s staff to let him do this in a board room or something, but then he’d gone and gotten light headed walking to the bathroom and if they’d ever been considering it, they’d instantly changed their minds. Stuck in bed like this, dressed in easy-open hospital issue robes with Auror Longeman towering over him, Harry felt ridiculously pathetic.

“So, Mr. Potter, now that you’ve recovered a little, I’ve got to ask you some questions.”

Harry thought perhaps the statement was meant to come across as apologetic, but it felt more demanding than anything.

“Okay,” Harry said.

“I understand that you’ve no memory of the last…” Longeman glanced at his notes.

“Sixteen months,” Harry filled in bitterly.

With raised brows Longeman asked, “And one of the Auror healers has verified the memory loss is irreversible?”

Harry’s stomach lurched, “Guess so.”

With a serious nod, Longeman continued, “With the memories that you do have, who do you know that may have wanted to hurt you?”

“You’re kidding right?”

Why had the Aurors assigned this arse to Harry’s case? From what Ron had told him, Longeman had been close with Scrimgeour before his death (which didn’t recommend him to Harry), but had carried along as normal following the Ministry coup (further damaging Harry’s opinion of the man). He was considered to be a very letter-of-the-law officer, which Harry well knew did not align with morally strong.

Why couldn’t they have assigned his case to an Auror who’d been a part of the Order as well? Ron’s reassurances that Longeman was a strong investigator and generally known as trustworthy somehow didn’t feel like much right now. Not with Longeman studying Harry with those watery brown eyes of his and his military style, light brown hair.

“No, Mr. Potter, I’m not kidding.”

“The last I remember was like five months after the war. Every Death Eater and their families had it out for me, I’m sure.”

Longeman frowned slightly, clearly unimpressed with Harry’s attitude. _Well fucking good,_ Harry thought. He didn’t have the mental energy to waste on stupid questions anyways.

“The Malfoys?”

Harry’s muscles tightened. “I hardly think it’s likely that Draco Malfoy did this,” he bit out, with far more certainty than he would have expected.

“Narcissa Malfoy, then? I’ve heard she and her son are estranged.”

Really? That was interesting.

“I couldn’t say,” Harry snarked, “I don’t remember. I doubt it though.”

The woman who had lied to Voldemort’s face for her son? Harry had a difficult time believing she would intentionally cause him so much hurt, regardless of the state of their relationship.

“Alright then,” Longeman gritted his teeth. “Any particular names of those who might bear grudges from the war?”

“None more than any others I guess.” Harry made to move out of bed, “Is that it? I’d like to find a nurse for my next dose of painkillers.”

Longeman shifted in front of the door, filling most of it up with his large frame. Harry would bet all this Galleons that this man was the resident bully of the Auror department.

“I need to discuss safety measures for your return home, Mr. Potter.”

“Don’t need any,” Harry said flippantly, knowing as he did so that Hermione would lose her mind if he refused them.

“But you do, Mr. Potter. It is Auror policy to ensure that any high-risk victims are protected while investigations are ongoing. Luckily, you already live in a home with a Fidelius charm, though a somewhat compromised one, and the floo is open only to a few selected homes, which is adequate. We will also be placing an Auror at the front entry to your home for the foreseeable future. Prior to your discharge from the hospital a perimeter will be set up. You are not to leave your home alone at any point in time. You may request an Auror to accompany you or leave in the company of a fully-trained witch or wizard who has been cleared by our department only. Understood?”

Harry jumped the rest of the way out of bed and ignored the rushing sensation in his head. Fists clenched, he stomped up to Longeman, ready to assure him that he most certainly _did not_ understand.

Niamh knocked on the door and glancing quickly at Harry’s expression, said, “Auror Longeman, I’m terribly sorry but we’ll need you to leave now, I’ve some treatment to do with Mr. Potter.”

“We were just wrapping up, Healer,” Longeman smiled stiffly at Niamh.

Moving to stand next Harry, so he could lean on her shoulder, Niamh watched the man walk away.

“He upset you?”

“He’s an arse.”

“Seems like.”

“Apparently,” Harry said as she guided him back to bed with a strong arm around his back, “I’m to be treated like a child for the foreseeable future.”

Years of being treated like a child while having to deal with adult situations had left Harry particularly affronted with the idea.

“What did he say?”

“I’m not allowed to leave my home without an escort approved by them.”

Niamh hummed as she offered Harry a couple of potion vials, “I can see why that would frustrate you. But also…”

Harry raised his brows.

“Well,” she continued with a little shrug, “if you’d seen your loved ones over the last several days maybe you’d see it as more important.”

A sprout of guilt raised up in the middle of Harry’s irritation, but he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the issue.

“It’s overkill,” he grumbled to Niamh’s back as she walked out of the room.

\---

“So,” Niamh said, handing a list of care instructions to Harry and Hermione each, “You are to rest for the next three days _minimum_.”

“Niamh,” Harry grumbled, “you haven’t known me long enough to be insinuating that I won’t listen to your instructions.

She crossed her arms and raised her brows, “I absolutely have. You spent most of yesterday trying to overexert yourself. As I was saying, three days rest. Then you can progress to spending an hour or two out of the house at a time, getting some fresh air and what not. Memory wise, don’t try to overload yourself. Get a few stories here and there. Once we’ve checked in with you next week, we will see how you’re doing. If progress is good you can start reviewing other peoples’ memories of shared experiences in a pensieve. Best to do that in chronological order, so it might take some organizing. We’ll talk more about that later, alright? _Do not_ start that process until you’ve been given go ahead by me, yeah?”

Niamh and Healer Cunningham had made it very clear there was nothing they could do about the memory loss. But that didn’t matter to Harry. What mattered was what Hermione said. Which, like a blow to the gut, was exactly what the healers had said. She’d looked at him beseechingly when she acknowledged that yes, she had been able to bring back her parents’ memories. But that was because she had proceeded with delicacy and caution in the spell work she used to obliviate them, and had woven in a way to reverse it. With Harry, she explained, the obliviation had been like blunt trauma. It _had_ accompanied physical blunt trauma.

The idea of watching others’ memories didn’t seem as though it would come remotely close to replacing what he’d lost.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered to Niamh.

“I’ve got the organizing under control,” Hermione reassured her.

“Grand,” Niamh said before turning to Ron who was rushing down the hall looking harried. She pointed an accusing finger his way, “You keep yourself calm around him!”

Pulling up short, Ron blinked at her. He took a moment to catch his breath before sheepishly replying, “Sorry, training went late, didn’t think I’d make it in time. I will be a paragon of serenity.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Niamh, for everything. But can I please leave now?”

With a squeeze of his arm, she nodded and walked away.

“So, floo or side along, Harry?” Ron asked.

Harry must have looked off colour at the thought of it because Hermione said, “Or a good old fashioned cab?”

“Cab, please.”

The thought of transporting via magic made Harry’s whole body tense protectively. After an unpleasantly jolty elevator ride, they emerged onto the main floor and wound their way past those unfortunate souls waiting to be triaged. They slipped out the window and onto the road, which was full of muggles rushing around so busily that they didn’t notice the three people who walked straight through the glass of the condemned department store onto the walkway.

“Such a shame that they won’t do something new with this old place,” a woman said into her cellular, looking up at the store as she sped right past them.

A screeching noise cut through the sounds of traffic and Ron said quickly, “Brace yourself, Harry.”

Harry was not sufficiently braced for the ball of feathers that bounced off the side of his face before settling properly onto his shoulder. The bird nuzzled itself into the crook of Harry’s neck.

“This is Oscar?”

“Yup.”

Harry twisted to see the moon-faced bird and gave him a pet, “Hullo, mate.”

Ron grinned, “This barmy bird tried to break into Mungo’s when you were brought in.” He ignored Hermione hissing at him that they weren’t meant to overload Harry with stories. “He’s the one who found you, after you were attacked. Anyways he made it all the way to the lifts, and this nurse was losing it. But Oscar wouldn’t leave until Draco pulled out his strict tone. He sounds like mum when he does, it’s awful.”

There was so much in that, Harry didn’t know what to unpack. He turned to Hermione, and was relieved when she beckoned Oscar over onto her arm. “Oscar, love, we need to take a muggle cab home, and you won’t be welcome. Would you go ahead and meet us at Grimmauld Place? I promise we will get him there safely.”

Oscar clacked his beak irritably at her.

“It’s alright, Oscar. Really,” Harry said, rather charmed by the owl’s protectiveness. Oscar hopped from Hermione’s arm back to his shoulder and nibbled on his hair before flying away.

“Does he seem familiar?” Ron asked hopefully.

Harry shook his head, watching the coppery bird shrink from view into the grey sky.

\---

Harry stood on the front steps of Number 12 Grimmauld Place feeling nauseated. In his memory, he had been back no more than twice since the battle at Hogwarts; each time only to ensure that Kreacher was getting along okay. The place had held a few too many memories for Harry’s comfort. Now, apparently, it held not nearly as many as it was supposed to. According to Hermione he’d been living there for over seven months. Seven out of the sixteen months Harry had lost and would never get properly back.

So, Harry stood on the steps of his godfather’s hated childhood home with very little hope. Oscar had settled himself onto Harry’s shoulder the moment he’d left the cab, which brought some comfort, at least.

Ron clapped his hand onto Harry’s other shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze. “Let’s go, mate.”

Harry let Ron and Hermione lead the way, trailing after them. The hallway was bright, painted a light cream, with sun streaming in from a window above the door that hadn’t existed before. A series of whimsical magical creature themed hooks were set into the wall, a burgundy cloak hung on one of them. There was a pine bench on the opposite wall, with the notorious troll leg umbrella stand next to it. Overall the hallway seemed as though it might have been widened, but perhaps that was just the benefit of light and a good paint job.

“Master Harry,” Kreacher appeared with a pop, nodding his head formally. “I is wanting to welcome you home.”

“Thank you Kreacher.”

A series of yipping barks echoed up the hallway, and on skittering feet the crup puppy that Harry had no memory of appeared. He was adorable, with scruffy white and brown fur, his forked tail beating wildly as he slammed into Kreacher’s legs on his way to Harry. Kreacher, disgruntled, apparated away. Oscar abandoned Harry for the bannister of the nearest stairwell as Harry dropped to his knees to greet the pup, “Hey, Gandalf. Hi, buddy.”

The crup crawled right up Harry’s lap until his paws rested on Harry’s chest and he could swipe his tongue eagerly across Harry’s face. Harry looked up to see Ron and Hermione studying him for signs of recognition. He sighed and shook his head, before standing up. Harry had opted for Malfoy to leave the crup, figuring that the company would be nice. Harry had always wanted a dog.

“Give me a tour?”

They started down the hallway towards the kitchen. Harry recognized immediately that that bigoted old banshee Mrs. Black’s portrait had been replaced with a painting of Hogwarts, lights twinkling in a twilight backdrop. “How’d we ever get her off?”

“Draco sweet talked her into telling him how to remove the sticking charm,” Ron replied casually. “You donated her to a museum. Once she found out that you and Draco were more than colleagues… she er, was even less fond of that than she was of the idea of muggleborns and blood traitors using her house as a base against Voldemort.”

Hearing Ron repeatedly say ‘Draco’ rather than ‘Malfoy’ and talk about their old nemesis as though they were genial left Harry feeling yet again like he’d woken in an alternate universe. On entering the kitchen, though, Harry forgot all about that.

“This is bloody _brilliant_!”

Hermione grinned at him, “You definitely put the most effort into this part of the house.”

Everything in the kitchen looked state of the art. A mixture of muggle and wizarding tools and technologies. There was an extra wide oven with six gas burners. Clean, wide, grey and white granite counters and pale grey backsplash. The cabinets were lightly stained pine wood. Gandalf, who had been winding around Harry’s ankles, stopped him at the corner of the counter and yipped up at it expectantly. Harry found a jar of dog cookies resting there, and mindlessly pulled one out and offered it to Gandalf, who jumped to grab it out of his hand. Hermione sniffed in disapproval.

Harry ignored her, and wandered towards the refrigerator. Stuck to its gleaming surface was a colouring page of a Hippogriff filled with rainbow scribbles and signed in Dromeda’s neat cursive _from Teddy_ , a monthly calendar with the Auror training schedule marked in a neat hand, and a photograph.

A photograph of Harry and Malfoy with their arms wrapped around each other as they laughed. They each wore a Weasley sweater, Harry’s red and Malfoy’s green, with the initial of their first names in gold and silver respectively. Malfoy’s hair was longer than Harry remember it, brushing his shoulders. But not so long that he’d ever be mistaken for his father. He had piercings Harry hadn’t noticed when he’d woken up to Malfoy’s blurry face. A silver hoop through his left eyebrow and a small black diamond stud in an earlobe. It all suited him well, making his face seem chiselled rather than pointy and emphasizing the grey in his eyes.

Mouth dry and heart racing, Harry raised his hand as if to pull the photograph off the fridge before letting it fall limply to his side instead. He couldn’t remember ever feeling as happy, as carefree, as he looked in this photograph. With Draco Malfoy.

He turned to leave the room, avoiding the pitying looks he knew Hermione and Ron were aiming at him. Without waiting, he poked his head towards the sitting room and then headed up to the drawing room which had similarly been repainted and furnished in clean, bright and comfortable items. The family tree tapestry was gone, the wall instead covered with photographs in mismatched frames. A lot of them Harry knew were previously hung on the wall of his flat, his friends had all helped him with the project before they headed back to Hogwarts for that optional year. Some of them were new, though. One of Malfoy holding Teddy tightly as they rode on a broom a few feet above the ground. Harry holding up their puppy like Simba in the opening scene of The Lion King. Harry, Ron, Hermione, George, Neville and Luna crowded in a pub booth with Draco and Pansy Parkinson. He shook his head and headed up the stairs.

Every room he peeked into was bright and fresh. Homey and comfortable. Before, in Grimmauld Place Harry could always feel the unpleasant prickle of dark magic on his skin. Now, it felt safe. If it weren’t for how disoriented Harry felt about this all, he would have been relieved to be here and gone straight for a nap.

Finally, he reached what he remembered was the master bedroom, which Sirius had given up to Buckbeak with a supreme satisfaction back in the summer that Harry had turned fifteen.

“Your bedroom,” Hermione noted.

A queen size bed, with a simple wooden frame and a plush white comforter sat in the middle of the room. There was a nightstand on either side of the bed, the one on the right had nothing on its surface, the one on the left had a pile of magazines and a glasses case. Harry assumed the left was his side, with a twist of his stomach. His eyes ranged over the two cream toned armchairs tucked into the bay window and he noticed a door. Heading through it, he found a walk in closet, which was entirely bare on one side. Through the other side of the closet was a bathroom, he barely glanced at it, before heading back out into the hall where his friends waited for him. Waited as if it would have been too intimate for them to be present while he rediscovered the bedroom he had shared with his partner.

“Nothing?” Ron asked with his face scrunched up dubiously. Hermione glared at her fiancé.

Harry shook his head and took a deep breath before saying, “Thank you both, really. But I’m good now.”

He walked them down to the door, dismissing their looks of concern and emphasizing that he was just tired, which the Niamh said was to be expected.

“Remember an Auror will be outside of the door at all times until they arrest whoever attacked you, Harry.” Hermione said worriedly. “It’s Diggle at the moment, but a few different ones will rotate through. Proudfoot will be there, too. And you remember Zinnia Belmore? And Molly will be by after dinner to check on you.”

Harry nodded and accepted a hug from each of his friends. When the door closed behind him he headed back to drawing room and carefully studied each of the memories that hung on the wall.

The whirl of emotions that had gripped Harry on first hearing about his lost life had settled into a sort of fury during his days in the hospital. He had spent his time in between pain potions and the relief of sleep staring at the walls and feeling just so damned angry about it all. He didn’t take the time to wonder about his life with Malfoy. He tried not to think about it, actually. Instead, he let himself fume that someone out there had the nerve to take his fucking memories. That all he could remember was the terrible months following the war. That he didn’t remember Teddy growing and learning and looking so much like Remus. That he couldn’t remember going wedding dress shopping with Hermione, even after she showed him the photograph where she twirled in her delicate lace sheath, beaming and looking absolutely luminescent.

Now, looking at the photographs of those last months, Harry grieved. For this bizarre, insane twist that his life had taken- with Malfoy. That he couldn’t remember. Seeing evidence of what _had been_ brought the undeniable realization that it _was_. It was true. It was real. They had been in love. Are they in love? Malfoy must be, Harry understood, remembering the pain in his voice at St. Mungo’s that first day.

Deep sobs began to claw their way up his chest and throat. He dropped to the ground and cried. Gandalf crawled into his lap once more, and Harry cradled him closely, glad for the creatures innocence and warmth. Eventually, he pulled himself off the floor and stumbled up all the flights of stairs to their bed. He crawled into the right side and inhaled a faint scent of mint.

That was where Molly found him, asleep, when she let herself in later that evening. She woke Harry with a gentle brush of her fingers across his forehead, and sat in the bed next to him, holding him tightly as he cried some more. When he was done, she brought him to the kitchen and fed him. She didn’t say anything beyond gently cooing his name the entire time she was with him.

After she left, Harry found a spare bedroom to sleep in.

\---


	4. When You're Ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring Draco! (At least a little, I promise he'll get more screen time soon!)

Harry was rarely left alone over the next three days. Hermione had taken a leave from work (which was probably more easily given than it would have been if they’d been any other two people). Each day she was there when Harry woke, ready to coax breakfast into him. Ron would drop by during breaks in his training schedule to check in on them.

Spending time with Ron was a strange sort of relief, because he alone refused to walk on eggshells around Harry. He’d make references to things that Harry couldn’t remember, his only modification being that he would pause for the slightest instant to allow Harry an opportunity to ask a question if he’d like. Otherwise he’d natter on with no concern about Draco or weddings plans as though Harry hadn’t forgotten all of it.

Molly and Arthur would take over in the evening. Molly would cook Harry dinner and tut over his low appetite. Arthur took a distraction tact, asking Harry all sorts of questions about muggle technology that he never knew the answers to anyhow.

Numbly, Harry allowed everyone to cater to him. He figured it made them all feel a little better about the situation, as if they had some control, and he didn’t want them all to feel as badly as he did.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself right up until his third and final day of mandated rest.

His first full day home, after spending much of the previous night feeling sorry for himself, Harry determinedly avoided thinking about how he shared the home with Draco Malfoy. He kept to the few rooms that he’d already seen. He avoided looking at the walls and the front of the refrigerator (he’d thought about removing the photographs that made such restrictions necessary, but he didn’t want to make it too obvious to Hermione that was avoiding looking at them).

His second day home, Harry realized that pretending that he hadn’t been living in some form of domestic bliss with _Draco Malfoy_ was pointless. So he instead decided to obsess over every memory he had involving Malfoy, looking for clues of something more than vitriol between them. He started with that very first memory in Diagon Alley before their first year. Malfoy had insulted Hagrid, without a second thought.

It wasn’t until he’d flipped through his mental catalogue to the end of their sixth year of school that Harry remembered feeling anything more than hate towards Malfoy. After he’d (sort of) accidentally cursed Malfoy Harry had felt a tremendous amount of guilt. He’d gone under his invisibility cloak to see Malfoy in the hospital wing in the middle of the night. He’d been caught out very quickly and ended up having an actual conversation with the other boy. And he’d walked away from it with something that felt a lot like understanding. After that, what stood out for Harry was reluctance. Malfoy’s reluctance to kill Dumbledore. His reluctance to give up Harry, Ron, and Hermione at Malfoy Manor. His reluctance to attack Harry in the Room of Requirement (and his arms wrapped tightly around Harry’s waist, but probably the only reason _that_ feeling stood out so clearly in Harry’s memory was because of what he know knew about them). They’d interacted during the trials, too. That had gone alright, Harry supposed.

But then Harry would think about how they’d gone from what Harry _could_ remember to living together, sleeping together, presumably _sleeping_ together and he’d feel sick. Pushing his fists into his eyes he’d work to tamp it all down, pretending that Hermione wasn’t right across the room looking at him with pity and waiting for him to be ready to hear more about the life that had been scrubbed from his brain.

On the third day, just after lunch, Harry had brushed off Hermione’s suggestion that he go to lay down and had instead gone into the drawing room and grabbed a book from the top of a pile on the side table. Unfortunately, it was obviously left behind by Malfoy – _The Use of Potions in Criminal Investigations_. Harry snapped it shut and stood, glaring at the photographs on the wall.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Hermione asked softly from her place on the couch opposite him.

“Hermione,” he asked with an edge to his voice, “you’re working on a way to fix this, right?”

“Harry… we’ve already talked about this.” Her brown eyes were teary and apologetic already, which set Harry’s teeth on edge. “There isn’t a way. The way your memories were taken… there’s nothing anyone can do. I wish it were different.”

“You,” he said, “are supposed to be the most brilliant witch of our age. You’ve figured out every other insane situation we’ve ever been in. You’re seriously telling me you can’t work it out?”

Tears were streaming down her face now, but Harry wasn’t ready to feel badly about it yet.

“No, Harry. I can’t.”

“Do I just not deserve to be happy? Is that it?” Harry was fully yelling now. “Was I happy, Hermione? With him? I sure fucking look like I was!”

He snatched a photograph of the two of them racing on their brooms in the Weasley’s orchard off the wall and threw it across the room. The harsh sound of broken glass made Hermione gasp.

“ _Harry_ ,” she pleaded.

“Just… Just leave m alone, Hermione,” he ground out.

Snatching another photograph off the wall to toss to the ground, Harry ignored the sound of the door closing behind her.

He’d broken, repaired, and replaced half a dozen photographs to their place on the wall by the time Ron came in. Harry looked up at him dolefully from where he’d flopped onto the couch. Heaving a sigh, Ron offered him a cup of tea and regarded him steadily.

The hot tea washed away some of the tightness in Harry’s throat. “I just-” he began.

“I know,” Ron said.

“And everyone’s looking at me with all this bloody pity.”

“Fuck that, right? How dare anyone feel badly for you!”

Harry snorted. “I know. I owe her an apology.”

“Little bit. Your head must be feeling better. I heard you put up quite the racket.”

Dropping his head back against the couch, Harry grunted in response. Ron sat next to him and wrapped his arm around him, tugging until Harry rested his head against Ron’s shoulder instead.

“We’ll figure it out, mate. Maybe not the way we wish we could. But we’ll work it out.”

\---

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Hermione asked, all but wringing her hands with anxiety.

Harry squeezed her shoulder and replied seriously, “If I don’t leave this house, I will go mental.”

He still felt badly for losing it on her the day before, despite her gracious acceptance of his apology.

“We could just go somewhere muggle though,” Hermione suggested as Harry bent down to ruffle Gandalf’s fur.

“Best way to deal with the attention is to just push through. It only gets worse if I avoid it. Besides, we’re already all set for Ron to meet us at Harvest, right? So put on your cloak and let’s go.” Harry stood and looked from Gandalf to Oscar apologetically, “Sorry, you’re not invited.”

They walked to Diagon Alley, Harry grateful as he never thought he’d be for the damp chill in the air. He felt brilliant. Back to new. His headache was gone. The tension in his shoulders was loosening with each quick step forwards. Hermione was rushing to catch up to him. Thankfully, she had been approved by the Ministry to escort Harry outside of the house (in addition to every member of the Weasley family, Andromeda, and Draco Malfoy – despite Longeman’s suspicions).

They walked right through the Leaky, eyes on the back door, not giving its gawping patrons so much as a glance. Harry tapped his wand merrily on the correct brick and strode through. He continued to ignore the curious looks of passersby, as well as the askance eyeing Hermione was giving him. While Hermione and Ron would argue that Harry had a propensity to be moody, he wasn’t one for _prolonged_ moping; at least, not since his sixth year. And nearly a week of bed-bound misery was too much.

He was on his way to his favourite lunch place, the Harvest Café, which had been one of the first businesses to reopen following the war. The owners were amongst the few people who treated Harry normally. Which at the Harvest meant with an abruptness bordering on rude. He’d hardly had an appetite, but the thought of a greasy bacon sandwich made his stomach rumble in anticipation. After his (he could barely acknowledge the truth in his own mind) temper tantrum of the day before, Harry was back to wanting to pretend his life was normal and just enjoy a lunch out with his friends.

Ron’s gangling figure caught Harry’s eye, “There’s Ron,” he nudged Hermione with a grin.

His breath caught in his lungs and he stuttered to a stop as he realized who was next to Ron. The two of them, both over six feet, made quite a stately pair in their well-tailored Auror robes. Dark grey wool, with red sleeves and vermillion piping, blue badges on their chests marking them as trainees.

As they approached, Ron slapped his forehead and exclaimed, “Hermione, Harry! I forgot we were having lunch. Draco and I were just going to eat.”

The line was clearly rehearsed. Harry looked to Malfoy, who was evidently as surprised as he was. He looked rather worse for the wear, pale with purple smears beneath his eyes. He took a few steps past Ron towards Harry, reaching his hand out before letting it flutter back down.

“Harry,” he said voice raspy, “how are you?”

“I- “ Harry’s throat caught, “I’m feeling better.”

Malfoy nodded with a sad smile. Then he turned to Ron, expression hardening.

“Oh god, I swear Harry, Draco, I had no idea he was going to do this,” Hermione burst out, actually wringing her hands in her anxiety.

“Well,” Ron said cheerfully, with impressive fortitude in the face of the icy look that Malfoy was giving him, “we’re all here now. Let’s go for lunch, shall we?”

“No,” Draco decreed, turning his back to Harry and Hermione and tilting his chin down as though he were a bull ready to gut Ron. The lines of his shoulders were tense. “You do not get to do this. You do not get to spring this on us. You absolutely do _not_ get to do it in a public place, Weasley.”

Ron’s fortitude drained away, and he shrunk an inch or two. Malfoy stepped back just enough to be able to stride past Ron down the Alley without having to push him out of the way.

The three of them watched Malfoy go in silence. An unpleasant squirming sensation arose in Harry’s gut.

“Where do you think he’s going?” he asked.

“Probably back for some shit canteen food,” Ron replied. “He’s always a bit dramatic, isn’t he?”

Harry, now acutely aware of all the people staring at them and filled with a certain knowledge that this would be in tomorrow’s Prophet, turned to glare at Ron himself. “That really was a cunty thing to do, you know.”

“ _Harry!_ ” Hermione hissed. It was the one curse she really couldn’t tolerate. “But really, Ronald. What were you thinking?”

“I just…” Ron waved a big hand in the air, grasping for a good explanation. He dropped it with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry nodded his acceptance. “I’m not hungry. Can we just go home?”

“I think,” Ron grimaced, “I’ve got another apology to make. See you after my shift though?”

“Sure,” Harry nodded, as Hermione wrapped her arm around his shoulders and guided him over to an apparition point.

He numbly allowed her to take him side-along, and headed into the living room to collapse on the chesterfield.

Despite the time Harry had spent analyzing his memories of Malfoy, he’d tried not to think too much on the reality that the Malfoy of present times was out there somewhere, staying away on the recommendation of Harry’s healers. Of course, in the back of his mind he’d known that the Malfoy factor of this all wasn’t something he could push off forever. But it was certainly more comfortable to think that Harry was the only one affected by this.

Now, he turned their brief interaction in the middle of Diagon Alley in his mind as obsessively as he’d done with their more distant ones. The way Malfoy had approached him as though he wanted to grab hold of Harry, but knew he couldn’t. The way he’d held back his anger to ask how Harry was, before telling Ron off and storming away. The riot of emotions that Harry could see in the small movements of his lips and brows and hands. How those piercings looked in real life. The way he had looked inarguably striking in his uniform. Harry was surprised to think that Malfoy would probably make a great Auror. Commanding and collected, even when he was distraught.

Hermione passed Harry a warm cup of tea. He hadn’t even noticed she’d been out of the room. “I’ve been keeping him up to date on how you’re doing,” she shared gently.

He swallowed the knot in his throat before taking a sip of tea.

“He’s taken the healer’s instructions to give you some space very seriously, but it’s been hard for him… I think Ron was just trying to help. Which is not to say he isn’t a complete moron.”

“So… they’re really friends, then?”

“He’s going to be one of Ron’s groomsmen,” Hermione said with a sympathetic wince.

Harry flopped his head back onto the couch and stared at the roof. “Alright…”

“When you’re ready,” Hermione rubbed his arm.

\---

“Right, then,” Harry said over the kitchen table, a tea clutched firmly between his hands.

Hermione, clearing the table of the remains of takeaway curry Ron had brought home as a peace gesture, raised her brows at him.

“I’m ready to ask some questions,” Harry clarified turning from her to Ron, who was chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“How’d you become proper friends with him?”

Ron shrugged. “You fell in love with him,” he said, as though it were really that simple.

“That’s it? Bull shite.”

“Well… He’d apologized to Hermione. And then went on some sort of apology campaign. And we worked together quite a bit on the logistics for taking down the dementors. Then we studied together to write the NEWTS cause he challenged them end of last year, rather than repeating the full school year. And we prepped for the Auror trainee written and physical exams as well.” Ron shrugged again, “I suppose it also helped that I whooped him during our first training duel. In the trainee program we’re paired up as partners, I’m actually hoping they might let us stay on together as proper partners once we’re done. We work well together.”

Harry blinked at Ron, not sure what to say. He’d always thought that Ron had hated Malfoy even more than he did. He turned to Hermione silently.

With a soft smile, she said, “It started when he apologized to me. And really, we’ve got quite a lot of interests in common. He’s also very curious about all things muggle, so that helped us along the way.”

Harry couldn’t have said he _wasn’t_ surprised by all that. But he couldn’t exactly say he was, either. And, for the first time, a small spark of hope flared in him. Maybe the idea that he could get along with Malfoy wasn’t so wildly far-fetched after all.

Something else about the reality he’d woken up in was far from what he’d expected though.

“Why am I not in Auror training with you?” Harry asked nervously. Had he not been good enough after all? Maybe he’d fallen deeper and deeper into his grief after the war.

Ron opened his mouth to respond but Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and asked, “Why do you think, Harry?”

Frowning, Harry mulled this over. “I… I guess it always felt a bit more of an obligation than anything else?” 

Hermione nodded, “You decided you didn’t want to. You’ve been doing your NEWTS be correspondence this year, planning to get your mastery in Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Huh,” Harry bobbed his head. That made sense. That actually sounded brilliant. He’d always liked teaching the others in the DA. “Wait…” His eyes widened, “Are you telling me I’ve _forgotten_ months’ worth of studying?”

Cringing, Hermione confirmed, “Afraid so, Harry. But I’ll help you catch up again whenever you’re ready, just let me know!”

Whenever you’re ready, Harry. Whenever you’re ready. He’d heard the sentiment so many times in the past week that if he got a sickle each time, he could take himself out for one hell of a nice dinner.

\---


	5. Home is Where the Memories Aren't

“It’s Mr. Malfoy,” Kreacher whispered to Harry, turning wide-eyed from the closed door to regard Harry who stood at the end of the hall. “Is Master Harry wanting to let him in?”

Gandalf barked excitedly at the door, his forked tail slapping Kreacher’s spindly legs. Another desolate knock sounded on the door.

“I’ll- I’ll open it,” Harry said, “Maybe you could get some tea for us?”

Tea could solve anything, right? At the very least, Harry needed some to soothe his nerves. He’d been about to head up to bed when the first knock had sounded, freezing him in his steps. He still had an Auror posted outside of Grimmauld Place, and with that knock Harry had known who must be at the door. Anyone else either wouldn’t have made it past the Aurors or would have just used the floo.

It had been two days since they’d seen each other in Diagon Alley. Harry had spent much of that time thinking about how to reach out to Malfoy. Should he ask Hermione to bring Malfoy around? Should he find out where Malfoy is staying and just show up? He wrote three separate letters earlier that evening and had combusted each of them with an irritable jab of his wand as Oscar looked on in silent judgement. Finally, the owl had flown out the window in disgust.

Harry headed down the hall and nudged Gandalf out of the way with his foot so he could open the door. Malfoy leaned heavily on the doorframe, with Oscar on his shoulder. As Harry swung the door fully open, Oscar came flying into the entryway and Harry turned to watch as he settled himself on the troll leg umbrella stand with a satisfied hoot.

Harry didn’t even have the chance to turn back to the door before he found himself wrapped tightly in Malfoy’s arms with a mouthful of long, loose blonde hair.

His heart flipped over and he took a moment to appreciate the clean peppermint smell before noticing hints of something sharper.

“Are you drunk?”

Malfoy released Harry, drew himself up disdainfully and jabbed a finger into Harry’s shoulder just a little too hard. “ _You_ have ruined my alcohol tolerance.”

“I did?” Harry asked baffled.

“Well _yes._ You don’t drink, so I don’t drink much, myself. And I know I shouldn’t be here. But I _am_ drunk. And yesterday was supposed to be an important day. But instead…”

The man’s eyes were rapidly filling and panic was bubbling up in Harry.

“Why, er… why don’t you sit? You seem a bit… wobbly?”

Malfoy sat heavily onto the pine bench that rested against the wall. Gandalf immediately hopped into his lap and washed his face with slobber. Malfoy ignored this, instead saying morosely, “I’m sorry. I just needed to see you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Harry replied softly, desperately wishing that Kreacher would appear with the tea.

Instead, another knock sounded on the door, this one with a more frantic rhythm. “Harry!” an unfamiliar women’s voice called through.

Harry pulled open the door to see an Asian witch in pink flannel pajamas. Without a trace of the smug look that typically adorned her face, it took him a moment to realize it was Pansy Parkinson.

“Is Draco here - ” Her eyes landed on Malfoy’s slumped figure just behind Harry. “Thank Circe’s golden cunt. Draco! You can’t just disappear into the night!”

She pushed past Harry to cup Malfoy’s cheek and regard him fiercely. “You’re alright, then?”

“Yeah,” he answered sheepishly.

“Good.” Pansy pulled out her wand and cast a patronus. A dainty cat sprang into life on Harry’s front step. “Go tell George- Draco’s fine, he is at Grimmauld. Meet me at home.”

Draco groaned deeply, “I’m sorry, Pans. I didn’t mean to ruin your date. I wasn’t thinking at all, suppose I’d hoped you wouldn’t even notice.”

“Of course I noticed. George went looking in at Dudley’s, then was going to head to the Burrow.”

“Wait,” Harry said. He’d been standing quietly by watching as Pansy bustled in to manage Malfoy with a positively Hermione-esque demeanor. “ _George Weasley_?”

Pansy grimaced as she turned back to Harry. “I’m sorry, Harry. He wanted to give you some time and then tell you about it.” She gave him an assessing look. “How are you doing? Your head’s not aching so much anymore?”

At this, Harry needed to sit on the bench next to Malfoy. Last he remembered interacting with Parkinson, she’d suggested that he be handed over to Voldemort.

“Yeah. Headaches are better,” he scraped out. “Bit confusing all this, though.”

She nodded sympathetically. _Where the fuck is Kreacher?_ Harry fumed.

“Should we go, Draco?” Pansy asked gently. Malfoy hung his head between his knees and mumbled something that sounded affirmative.

“You could stay,” Harry blurted on impulse. Malfoy whipped his head up to look at Harry in astonishment.

“I mean,” Harry turned to Pansy and stumbled onwards when the intensity in Malfoy’s eyes became too much, “If you were on a date… It’s late. He could stay in one of the spare rooms. I’m in a spare at the moment, too. In the morning,” Harry turned back to Draco, “we could talk a bit?”

Harry couldn’t draw his eyes away from the hopeful look on Draco’s face. He could sense Pansy watching them owlishly.

“Alright then,” she said. “Be careful, though.”

_Be careful?_ Harry wondered. Was she concerned Harry was ready to go back to brawling with Malfoy?

“Yes, ma’am,” Malfoy looked up at his friend, lips quirked up into a playful smile.

She tutted and pressed a kiss to Malfoy’s cheek. Then she turned and did the same for Harry, who sat in stunned silence as she walked out.

Harry stared at the closed door for a moment, before saying “So…” unsure where to go from here.

Kreacher appeared in the hall with a loud crack. “Kreacher can set Mr. Malfoy up in a room, perhaps?”

Harry wanted to ask about the tea, but decided that at this point it might be better to let Malfoy sleep it off a little, rather than blunder drunkenly through the awkward conversation coming their way.

Malfoy obviously agreed because he stood and said solemnly, “That would be nice, Kreacher.”

The two of them walked down the hall to the staircase. Hesitating, Malfoy rested his hand on the bannister and turned back, “Thank you, Harry.”

\---

Harry sat on the front hall bench until he felt cramped and cold. He moved up to his bed, where he watched the fire that Kreacher had set until it died down. When he gave up on sleep and checked the time, it was only just past four o’clock.

Shuffling out of his room, he studied the closed door opposite his in the hallway. He held his hand up to knock on the door, before deciding that he wouldn’t want to wake Malfoy if he had managed to sleep. Instead he turned the knob and cracked the door open. Gandalf was lying on the end of the bed, by Malfoy’s feet. He lifted his head just slightly and thumped his tail lazily in acknowledgement of Harry’s presence.

Malfoy was laying on his side, a stream of moonlight highlighting the curve of his neck. Harry’s breath caught and Malfoy rolled over, eyes fluttering open.

“Harry,” he said, voice raw. He sat up, clearing his throat. Harry realized he was wearing dark green silk pajamas.

“Were you wearing pajamas last night?” Harry whispered, certain that he hadn’t been.

“It seems,” Malfoy replied with an amused smile, “that Kreacher had some squirreled away in preparation for my anticipated return.”

Walking properly into the room, Harry chuckled, “Yes, I’m sure he was delighted to have someone with proper Black lineage in this place.”

“He was…gave me the cold shoulder for a month after I took down Auntie Wallburga, though.”

Harry perched himself on the edge of Malfoy’s bed. Once he’d done it he realized that perhaps he shouldn’t have, and tensed. Malfoy didn’t seem to mind too terribly though, so Harry stayed where he was and said quietly, “I didn’t mean to wake you up. Just couldn’t sleep myself.”

“No, I was up.”

The way Malfoy was looking at Harry, as though he needed to soak in every last detail, made Harry uncomfortable. He focused all his attention on picking a loose thread on his jumper before saying, “Malfoy, today’s February fifteenth. Well, sixteenth, now I suppose.”

He didn’t need to finish the thought for Malfoy to understand what he was getting at. Malfoy had said the previous day, Valentine’s day, was meant to be special.

“You came out on Valentine’s day,” he explained softly. “To everyone that mattered, really. And then you showed up at the Manor with this whole blarney speech.”

Malfoy smiled gently at Harry, who kept his attention steadfastly on his jumper, which to the likely dismay of Molly, was now unravelling. Something niggled at Harry’s memory. Ginny had mentioned that when he broke up with her, he had come out to her as well.

“Did I break up with Ginny on Valentine’s day?”

“Erm… It wasn’t quite as bad as it sounds, I don’t think.”

“Merlin,” Harry shook his head. While he’d managed to come around to the fact that he was, indeed, more interested in men than he’d ever been in any girl, it was hard to hear he’d been such an arse as to do that to Ginny, who of course he cared about.

“Hermione and I are working on getting together as many memories as possible,” Malfoy offered.

Harry finally turned to look at him. He seemed just as uncertain as Harry was.

“Thanks. I just-“ He gnawed on his lip for a moment. “I don’t know how it could ever be the same. How can it not feel… as though I’m forcing myself into someone else’s life?”

Malfoy swallowed heavily, “I don’t know, Harry. Maybe we could go back to the start in a way? Start with trying to become friends?”

Sighing, Harry ran a hand down his face. When he looked at Malfoy again he bore an expression of crushing disappointment. He’d clearly thought Harry didn’t want to be friends. A spark of anxiety ran through Harry. As insane as it was, he couldn’t stand the thought of upsetting Malfoy.

“I think you should move back in here,” Harry said, sounding much more certain than he felt.

Malfoy’s eyes widened, “really?”

“Sure,” Harry answered. “You at least remember this place being your home. I certainly don’t. You could use this room. I moved into a different room as well, across the hall.”

Seeming to realize that the offer was at least partially stemming from pity, Malfoy narrowed his eyes and straightened his back. “You don’t need to do this. I’m fine with Pansy.”

Harry snorted, “You sure seemed it last night.” Malfoy blushed and Harry, feeling a little guilty, added, “I want you to stay. I want to get to know you.”

“Okay,” Malfoy smiled softly. He looked so very different than Harry had ever known him, ruffled from sleep, with his expression wide open. “I’ll stay.”

“Good then,” Harry said, standing. “Now we’ve had this talk I think I might be able to manage some sleep. I’ll see you when the sun’s properly up.”

\---

There was an entire tea party taking place in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place when Harry finally dragged himself out of bed the next morning. George sat on a chaise with his arm wrapped casually around Pansy Parkinson’s shoulders. Hermione’s shoulder was cushioning Malfoy’s head, while on Malfoy’s other side Ron devoured a biscuit.

It was Hermione who noticed Harry standing awkwardly at the door, like an intruder. She nudged Malfoy, who jumped to his feet.

“Harry,” he said quietly, walking towards him. “Can we talk?”

Harry backed up into the hallway, and then followed Malfoy over to the next room, which had been set up as a study. A large, oak desk took up most of the room, with a purple velvet chair tucked in behind it. Bookshelves lined the walls, each packed in orderly fashion. A glass cabinet on the next wall was filled with shimmering vials and jars of dried potions ingredients, likely too delicate or dangerous to be kept in the kitchen. A corkboard hung on one wall, with a few photographs pinned to it alongside a save the date for Ron and Hermione’s wedding ceremony and a couple of sketched portraits. Malfoy allowed Harry a few moments to absorb the room before he began to speak.

“I’m sorry for last night,” he said, voice tight.

“Never thought I’d hear a Malfoy apologize,” Harry teased half-heartedly.

Malfoy smiled sadly and continued, “It wasn’t at all fair of me. Don’t worry about what we talked about. I understand you weren’t in the right state of mind.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, feeling as though his heart had dropped into his abdomen. “I meant it.”

“You did?” The flicker of hope in Malfoy’s grey eyes pulled Harry’s internal organs back into order.

“Yeah,” he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s all going to be terribly awkward. So I’m sorry about that part of it all. But your friends with all my friends now, and I have to trust past-me’s judgement I suppose. I thought what you said, about getting to know each other as friends made sense.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’d like to get to know you.”

Malfoy flushed, “Thank you for giving me a chance, Harry.”

Being on the receiving end of so much sincerity from the man he only remembered as a spiteful boy was too much for Harry.

“Yeah, uh…”

With a generous smile, Malfoy acknowledged the awkwardness. “Before, when we first became friends, I just absolutely refused to acknowledge how awkward it was. I knew I could convince you to work with me, so I determined that’s what we were going to do, no matter how much you argued.” He paused to eye Harry slyly, “mind, your arguments were on the weak side. Perfunctory, one might say.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile back. “I suppose you always did intrigue me.”

\---

By the time dinner rolled around their friends had abandoned them to deal with the awkwardness themselves. Draco eyed Harry shrewdly, leaving Harry feeling as exposed as he had the night before.

“Have you been eating?” he asked.

“Erm…” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course. Hermione and Molly have been here every day.”

Truth was, he’d been eating just the bare minimum that they’d let him get away with. The only moment he’d felt any of his appetite coming back had been right before Ron had gone and ruined it with his thoughtless plan to reunite Harry and Malfoy over lunch.

“I’ll make something,” Draco offered. “Come on.”

Harry followed him into the kitchen and took a seat at the table to watch. Draco looked in a few different cupboards before pulling a sauce pan out, releasing a quiet “Aha!” under his breath.

Amused, Harry asked, “Do you ever actually cook?”

“Sometimes,” Draco fixed him with haughty look.

“Okay.”

Draco puttered around the kitchen, pulling different ingredients and tools out. Often, he had to go back into cupboards when he realized there was something else he needed.

“Whatcha making?” Harry asked.

“Breakfast for dinner. That’s your favourite, isn’t it?” Malfoy turned, grey eyes searching Harry’s worriedly.

Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever had breakfast for dinner, but it did sound brilliant. “Yeah,” he smiled.

“So…” Malfoy ventured as he began to crack eggs. “You seemed like you hadn’t seen the study this morning.”

“Oh, yeah.” Just as Harry began to think that maybe the awkwardness was waning, it sprang back up on them. “Yeah… I haven’t really looked around the house much. Just kept to the main rooms, really."

“Hmm.” Malfoy turned his attention to whisking the eggs. Without looking at Harry he asked, “Why’s that?”

God. Did he really have to be honest and vulnerable with _Malfoy_? No, Harry supposed. He could refuse to answer. Tell Malfoy to fuck off. He could lie.

Instead he said, “It didn’t feel like mine to explore. And I was sort of avoiding it… seeing it all, I mean. The bedroom looked depressing enough.”

Harry hadn’t set foot in it since that afternoon he’d slept in it. The emptied nightstand and closet had garishly highlighted the division in their lives.

“Ah.” Malfoy nodded, finally glancing towards Harry. “Would you want to walk around together, then?”

“Maybe,” Harry’s face was screwed up with uncertainty. This was all just so bloody weird. “Yeah,” he amended with more confidence. “Let’s do that.”

Suddenly smoke began to billow up to the rooftop, setting Gandalf off into high pitched yips while Oscar fled the room with an irritable screech.

“ _Fuck!”_ Malfoy whirled around, pulling his wand out and dispersing the smoke. He lifted a pan off the burner and studied it before vanishing its contents with a heavy sigh.

“Shouldn’t you be better at cooking if you’re so good at potions?” Harry asked.

“Shouldn’t you be less shite at potions since you’re such a great cook?” Malfoy retorted petulantly.

Harry, to the surprise of both of them, burst out laughing. “You’ve got me there,” he acknowledged.

Malfoy gave him a reluctant smile in response. “I’ll admit you do the vast majority of the cooking. Breakfast for dinner is about the most I can manage. Usually, anyways,” he chuckled lowly and something sparked in Harry’s abdomen. “Now I think of it, that’s probably why it’s your favourite. Just to humour me.”

“Well,” Harry grinned, “breakfast for dinner’s a fantastic idea. Breakfast is the best meal of the day, but who wants to wake up that early to eat it?”

He stood up and walked over to the stove. “Let me help?” When Malfoy hesitated Harry grabbed the pan from his hand. “Come on, I’m sick of people waiting on me.”

They worked quietly together on finishing dinner. Malfoy seemed to know which tasks Harry preferred and took over the others, chopping and mixing while leaving the management of the stove to Harry entirely.

When they had their plates together they sat across from each other at the table and ate in silence for a while. The awkwardness was back again. It wasn’t like Harry had expected it to just dissipate because they’d had a couple of not-terrible conversations and a bit of a laugh, but how long would it linger? It made his stomach squirm and his brain flustered.

Harry pushed his food around, he still wasn’t keen on eating. Malfoy looked at him so worriedly that he ignored his apathetic stomach and dug into the hash. Just when Harry thought the sound of his own chewing might drive him to cast a silencing charm on himself, Malfoy spoke.

“I want to apologize to you.”

Harry looked up from his plate. “Why?”

Malfoy set down his fork and leaned towards Harry, his blonde brows furrowing. “For everything from when we were younger. You don’t remember all the steps between you rather rightfully hating me and now, so I need to apologize for all of it.”

“You don’t really…”

“Yes, I do,” Malfoy said assertively. “So I’m sorry. For being such a bullying git to you and Hermione and the Weasleys. For breaking your nose. For nearly casting an unforgiveable on you…” His pale features were tight, and it was clear that speaking this all out loud was unpleasant for him.

Harry winced, “Me too.”

Malfoy gave him a weak smile and continued, “I’m sorry for letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. For being a coward and not doing the right thing during the war over and over. For not doing more when you and Hermione and Ron were dragged into the Manor. I’m sorry for a lot, Harry. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I…” Harry started to say that he did forgive Malfoy. But the other young man looked at him frankly, warning him not to lie. He settled on, “I’ll get there,” instead. Somehow, he didn’t think it would take him all that long, actually.

They lapsed into silence again while they finished up their meals. Once Harry was done, Malfoy jumped to his feet and asked, “Ready to walk around the house?”

At Harry’s nod, Malfoy called for Kreacher, who immediately popped into the room. “Could you please clean up?” He wrinkled his nose, “Sorry, I burnt dinner so that one pan’s a bit of a mess.”

“Not a problem, sir,” Kreacher reassured.

Harry trailed after Malfoy out of the room, feeling utterly stunned.

“Do you want to go floor by floor?” Malfoy asked.

“Uh, sure.”

As they climbed the stairs from the kitchen, Oscar came to land on Malfoy’s shoulder. He’d been particularly clingy with the man since the morning, seemingly happy to have him back. Malfoy stroked his head affectionately and murmured quietly to the bird.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, Malfoy turned to Harry and said, “Now you’ve seen the study you know everything on the main floor. Theoretically we were meant to share the study, but you seem to prefer to spread out all over the dining table so I’m really the only one who uses it. Though,” Malfoy added, pulling open the door and pointing at a small stand against the wall just inside, “this is where you keep your books and notes when I insist you clear some space to actually eat.”

“Right. Studying for my NEWTS.”

Harry’s tone of voice must’ve given away how unimpressed he was with the prospect of that endeavor, because Malfoy chuckled in that soft, low way. It was leagues away from the cutting, derisive laughs that Harry remembered from school. He found himself hoping he could hear more of it.

“You really didn’t mind it,” Malfoy said. “You told me you were sort of enjoying studying without any pressing life or death situations distracting you.”

“Yeah, well that was before it turned out it was all wasted time and I’ll have to do it all over again.”

There was that chuckle again. Harry let his lips curve up a little in quiet triumph.

“Well, I happen to know that Hermione has a study schedule written up for you already,” Malfoy replied as he pulled the door of the study closed behind them. “Come on, next floor’s got the best room. I can’t believe that Ron didn’t make sure you saw it right away when you first came home.”

It was definitely the best room. A deep, inviting couch rested against one wall, with heavily cushioned reclining armchairs on either side of it. They faced a large television which had a surround sound speaker system. Shelves on either side of the telly were lined with films. Deep red velvet curtains were pulled across the window, but sconces lit the perimeter of the room in response to a flick of Malfoy’s wand.

“What the _fuck_ Ron? I could’ve spent all week in front of a telly and instead I was moping around the drawing room?”

Malfoy winced delicately, “I think that the instructions from the healers were to stay away from bright lights and screens, actually. Come to think, that must be why Ron didn’t show it to you to begin with.”

“Ah, well,” Harry heaved a sigh.

“George had to help us with some finnicky spell work to get it functioning. This house is so old that the getting the electronics working alongside the ingrained magic was much more difficult than at your muggle flat.”

“Brilliant George,” Harry commended. Turning to Malfoy with a smirk he asked, “So you like muggle films, then? Can’t imagine I’d feel inclined to own this many.” Rental really was more practical.

“Of course I do,” Malfoy tipped his nose up. “I’m not a luddite.”

“What’s your favourite?”

A blush spread across Malfoy’s cheeks. “I’ve many favourites, depending on the genre.”

His evasive tone sparked Harry’s suspicion. “If you had to choose, though. Go on, tell me.”

Turning his face away from Harry Malfoy muttered, “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”

“Huh,” Harry backed out of the room with a shrug. “Never seen it. You going show me the rest of this place or what?”

The next room over was largely empty, with the exception of a punching bag dangling towards the right side of the room, a pile of padded mats, and a series of targets hanging at various heights around the walls.

“Ron and I train in here,” Malfoy explained. “Sometimes you’ll join us. Or Dudley, even.”

“Dudley?” Harry asked dubiously, suddenly remembering that Pansy had mentioned George going to look for Malfoy at Dudley’s the previous evening. “As in my cousin Dudley?”

Harry couldn’t understand how the Dudley in question could possibly be Dudley Dursley, but he’d also never met another Dudley.

“Yes,” Malfoy tugged nervously at the knot his hair was pulled into. “We’ve become fairly good friends. He’s hoping to come and see you soon, check that you’re alright.”

“Dudley,” Harry said flatly.

He remembered going out for a couple of dinners with Dudley just before his memory had become a blank stretch of time. Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley had convinced him to give Dudley a shot after he’d told Harry he was happy that Harry wasn’t dead. They’d grabbed pizza and Harry had found great amusement in telling Dudley all about magic. But it was difficult to see how he’d become genuine _friends_ with Dudley. Never mind that apparently Dudley Dursley and Draco Malfoy were now friends as well. The sort of friends who worked out together, even.

“Did you bond over your mutual dislike of me?” Harry asked.

“No,” Malfoy’s lips pursed disapprovingly, though his eyes betrayed some humour. “We both happened to be rather interested in one another’s childhoods – _not_ the disliking you part. If anything, it was a mutual _liking_ of you that brought us together.”

Harry scanned his eyes over the room for a long moment, letting this settle in. “Merlin this is so weird.”

Smiling sympathetically, Malfoy remained silent.

They worked their way up through the rest of the house, popping briefly into various guest rooms that didn’t have much excitement to offer. They both walked right past the master bedroom without so much as a glance its direction. When they got to Sirius’s old room, Harry hovered his hand over the door knob, not certain he wanted to see what they had done with it. At Malfoy’s encouraging nod, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

It was just as Harry had last seen it, though a bit cleaner. Coloured in Gryffindor red and gold, and plastered with posters. When he breathed in deeply he thought he could even catch a lingering smell of firewood that reminded him painfully of his godfather. Above the bureau next to the door, the sole change in the room caught Harry’s eye. Between two panes of glass the torn photograph of Harry as a toddler, riding his very first broom stick, hovered. He reached out to nudge it with his finger and the frame obligingly turned around to show the page of his mother’s letter that had gone along with the photograph.

_Dear Padfoot…_

Harry swallowed heavily.

“You alright?” Malfoy asked softly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Biting his lip firmly to keep himself from getting too emotional (he’d had quite enough crying already this week thank-you-very-much) Harry replied, “this is really nice. I’m glad to see it’s been left.”

Malfoy let his hand brush gently against Harry’s where it dangled limply at his side. “We never even talked about doing anything else with it.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe and well everyone! Thanks for reading and comments are always appreciated - even if not replied to right away! :)


	6. Nearly Better

Falling asleep that night was a challenge. Malfoy had left the bathroom on the same floor of their bedrooms for Harry to use, and had gathered what he needed to take a shower upstairs. Apparently Kreacher had gone off to Pansy’s to collect all of Draco’s belongings earlier in the day. Harry brushed his teeth quickly, sprayed a lavender mist from Hermione liberally over his bed and then flopped down, burying his face into his pillow and trying to pretend he couldn’t hear the shower running above him. Trying not to think about the fact that he and Draco Malfoy were living together, which was weird. Trying not to think about how Draco Malfoy was _showering_ right above him, which was enticing and weird.

He woke late again the next morning and gulped back a glass of water followed by one of the vials of headache potion that Niamh had sent home with him. It was with relief that he heard the sound of Hermione’s voice from the bottom of the stairs as he headed down.

“Particularly noteworthy days will have more, of course,” she was saying. Though he didn’t say anything in response, Malfoy must’ve been with her, because the next thing Hermione said was, “I’m really proud of you, Draco.”

Harry froze in the middle of the stairwell.

“Stop it, you know a blush looks horrid on me,” Malfoy said in a tone that Harry suspected was meant to be irritable but which came across as self-conscious instead. Harry remembered Malfoy blushing about his favourite film and thought that he had looked far from horrid.

“I am though,” Hermione persisted. “This is a really shite situation and I think you’re handling it brilliantly.”

“Well, thanks,” Malfoy mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” Hermione said smugly. “So Ginny will be back in town tomorrow and we can get her memories - ”

“Good morning,” Harry interrupted, feeling that it was now safe to do so.

Malfoy quirked a brow up, clearly suspicious about Harry’s timing.

“Morning Harry,” Hermione greeted brightly. “I just wanted to check in with you both, but I’m actually back at work starting today.”

She was dressed in practical navy work robes with her hair pinned back into some semblance of control. Harry wanted to ask her to change back into jeans and a pullover and spend the day at Grimmauld with him. _Please don’t leave me alone with Malfoy and my confusing feelings,_ he wanted to beg.

“Oh,” Harry mustered up the good will to say. “Well great, then. Thanks for checking in. And, you know, for taking all that time off.”

Pressing a kiss to his cheek she said, “Of course. You’re doing alright this morning?”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged. “Took a headache potion already.”

“You’ve got your follow-up appointment at Mungo’s tomorrow at nine. I’ve left the hour free if you’d like me to come.”

“Alright,” he said uncertainly as she gave Malfoy’s arm an affectionate squeeze before stepping into the floo and whirling away.

“Harry…” Draco’s hesitant voice spoke behind him, Harry turned to properly look at him. “Do you – Do you think maybe I could accompany you to the healer’s appointment?”

Harry cringed. The thought of having Malfoy with him during something as intimate as a healer’s appointment was deeply uncomfortable. He immediately regretted it when a hurt expression slapped its way onto Malfoy’s face before he tamped it down and settled his expression into a neutral mask.

“Sorry,” Harry bit his lip. “I - uh, yeah. It would be good to have you come with me, actually.”

“Harry,” Draco chided.

“No, really. This all impacts you as much as me; you ought to be there to hear what they say first hand.” Worried that this still wouldn’t come across as sincere enough for Malfoy he added, “And I bet you’re the sort of person who will pay proper attention to what the healers say, which you know, I’m not. So I need you to make sure I don’t forget anything important.”

It was when Malfoy’s shoulders visibly slumped that Harry realized if he stuck his foot any further into his mouth he’d need surgery to remove it.

“Fuck. That was stupid of me. Sorry. Again.”

“That’s alright,” Malfoy said graciously, plastering on a smile. “If you truly mean it, I would be pleased to accompany you.”

“I do!” Harry said fiercely, feeling as though that time, at least, he sounded certain.

\---

Andromeda showed up at noon with an orange haired Teddy and a full deli’s worth of sandwich ingredients. Harry was fairly certain that he was not alone in breathing a sigh of relief. After Hermione had left, Malfoy explained that he’d taken the next two days off of his training to be around if Harry needed him. By the look on his face, Malfoy half regretted it. He’d gone to sit in his study and work on an essay, leaving the door open so that he and Harry could have some sense of proximity to one another, without having to actually navigate the reality of it.

Squealing with excitement, Teddy nearly lunged out of Andromeda’s arms towards Draco, who scooped him up and pressed a smacking kiss to the top of his head.

“Hallo Teddy,” he grinned, then walked over to Harry so that the squirming toddler could crane his neck and sloppily kiss Harry’s cheek.

“Teddy!” Harry crowed. “How’s it going mate? And what’s with the hair? You look as though you’re off to see the Weasleys!”

The boy abruptly turned his hair black and curly to match Harry, then platinum blonde and smooth to match Malfoy, who smirked widely at Harry. He quickly pulled his smirk in and turned back to Teddy when Harry met his eyes curiously.

“Teddy, Lord of Sandwich Making,” Malfoy said in a dramatic Shakespearean accent, “will you help me decide what ingredients I require for the most perfect of sandwiches? Then, we shall be off to the park to celebrate, methinks.”

Raucous giggles erupted from Teddy, which Harry couldn’t help but join in. Who knew Malfoy had a playful side? Dromeda had laid out all the sandwich fixings – two types of bread, turkey, ham, roast beef, and salami, three types of cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and little pots of condiments down the table. Malfoy carried Teddy along the length in one arm and dutifully added each ingredient as Teddy pointed insistently to every single option on the table.

“You know,” Malfoy said as he put the top slice of bread on his plate, “I think I might need to learn how to unhinge my jaw to manage a bite of this monstrosity. This is a sandwich made for dragons.”

When Teddy giggled, Malfoy set his plate down on the table and lifted the boy into the air with both arms. He dropped his jaw down as far as he could manage and pretended he was going to take a bite of Teddy’s toes. “What do you think,” he growled, “can I open my mouth as big as a dragon? My name means Dragon, so I should hope that is good for something.”

Kicking his feet, Teddy shrieked with false alarm punctuated with delighted laughter.

Andromeda slipped her arm over Harry’s shoulders as he stood watching. “You going to eat something, Harry?”

He blinked, “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, course. Thanks for bringing lunch, Dromeda.”

With a gentle sigh, she said, “I know, Harry.”

He was pretty certain she didn’t mean that he needn’t have bothered with the thank you.

Malfoy insisted that Harry take the lead with Teddy on the way to the park after lunch. Teddy clamped his small hand around Harry’s and toddled along the sidewalk, seeming to know where he was going. Once in a while, from where he strolled behind them with Andromeda, Malfoy would call out a direction because apparently Teddy did not, in fact, have the ability to successfully navigate just yet.

They spent a happy hour following Teddy around as he clambered up play structures and down the tot slide. When he was strapped into the swings by Malfoy, Teddy screamed for Harry.

“He wants one of us to push him from each direction,” Malfoy explained apologetically.

So Harry took up his position behind Teddy and pushed the swing back and forth to Malfoy, trying to avoid meeting his sparkling grey eyes.

After, Teddy and Andromeda headed home for the afternoon straight from the park, leaving Harry and Malfoy to walk the few blocks home on their own. Malfoy withdrew, becoming tense and silent.

As the entered the house, Harry said, “I uh, think I’ll go lay down for a bit.”

“That’s a good idea,” Malfoy said solemnly. “Take it easy.”

Instead of napping, Harry laid down and stared at his roof until dinner time. Thankfully, a plethora of friends joined them for dinner. Harry felt rather as though he needed a buffer.

\---

“Healer Brady,” Malfoy greeted Niamh formally, reaching out to shake her hand.

“Hey, Niamh,” Harry said cheerfully, pointing to the medical bench, “Want me up there?”

“Yes sir,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “I take it you’re feeling alright, then?”

He did have a fair bit of energy this morning. And he was determined to be in a good mood to counter how very unpleasant he figured this appointment was likely to be. He was glad it was Niamh and not Healer Cunningham who would be managing all of his follow-up, at least.

“Yeah. Took a headache potion yesterday morning, but I’ve been fine since then.”

“Glad to hear it. Draco,” Niamh added softly, “You can sit on that chair right next to Harry if you’d like.”

He settled himself cautiously while Niamh pulled out her wand.

“So first thing, Harry, is some diagnostic spells.”

Murmuring under her breath, Niamh waved her wand up and down Harry and around his head several times, monitoring the different shades of glowing light that emanated from his skin. A quick quotes quill jotted notes down in his chart as she dictated.

“Blood pressure: 124/82, Heart Rate: 86, Blood Oxygen: 98, Respirations: 14 a minute. Great,” she clapped her hands and stood back from Harry.

“So how’s it been?” She shifted her eyes towards Malfoy as though concerned that Harry may not answer honestly with him present.

“He’s fine,” Harry assured her. “It’s been fucking weird. I’m definitely more easily tired, which is frustrating. But the headaches have been happening less often, and they’re less intense when I get them.”

Niamh nodded, pleased.

“He hasn’t been eating much,” Draco tattled. Harry turned to glare at him.

“Hmm. Have you been having nausea?”

“More of a lack of appetite,” Harry admitted.

Niamh rested her hands on her hips and nodded, “Could be because of the concussion, headaches and whatnot. Could be the stress.” She turned to Malfoy, “How long have the two of you been in contact again?”

Malfoy shrunk a little under her assessing gaze. “Just a couple of days.”

“I invited him to move back in,” Harry said, not sure why his tone was so defensive. “I want to start figuring this all out. I’m ready. Just waiting around and pretending none of this has happened wasn’t doing me any good.”

Niamh sighed heavily. “No, I suppose not,” she conceded. “But if you are feeling too overwhelmed I want you both to know it is important to take a step back.”

“When can I start to review memories?” Harry ignored her.

“As soon as this evening, if you don’t experience anything worse than a mild headache between now and then. You need to view them in chronological order, we don’t want to scramble up your brain any more than it already has been, alright?”

A surging mixture of excitement and anxiety washed over Harry. “Great!”

“No more than one a day to begin with. Next week we can see about increasing that,” Niamh warned. She turned to Malfoy, “And make sure none of them are too emotionally intense. Best work up to those.”

“Certainly, Healer Brady. Hermione’s been working hard to gather and organize memories appropriately for Harry to view as prescribed.”

“Great. Right then, Harry. You’re free to go. I’ve got you scheduled in for Monday, instead of Tuesday, as I’ve got some surgical spells booked for that day. Ten o’clock if that’s alright.”

Harry jumped off the bed and clapped her on the shoulder, “Brilliant, Niamh, thank you. Oh, also – can I watch telly again?”

Niamh laughed, “Sure. Same thing, though. If you’re getting headaches take it easy. The screen will make it worse.”

“Brilliant!”

Malfoy reached to shake Niamh’s hand once more, “Thank you for your time, Healer Brady,”

They headed down the sterile halls of Mungo’s, all sorts of strange sounds echoing along them. Harry glanced to Malfoy at his side and asked, “Are you always that polite?”

“Yes,” Malfoy drew himself up in affront before dropping his shoulders a little. “Also, I’m afraid I was rather rude to her when we first learnt of your condition. I feel badly about it.”

Harry snorted and Malfoy ignored him.

“Hermione’s written to Headmistress McGonagall about borrowing her pensieve. If you’re up to it, we can go to Hogwarts and pick it up.”

\---

Malfoy left his hand wrapped around Harry’s a moment too long after they’d side-alonged. Harry didn’t feel the need to comment on it. The gates of Hogwarts loomed above them and Harry watched Hagrid’s lumbering figure approach.

“Harry, Draco,” Hagrid greeted in his usual genial manner as he fidgeted with the locks and swung the gates open for them. “Come on in. Harry,” he lifted his unruly brows to study Harry with his warm black eyes, “how’re ya feeling?"

“Good enough Hagrid,” Harry wrapped his arms around Hagrid, not bothering to worry about how it might make him seem like he was eleven again. Gratifyingly, Hagrid wrapped his arms around Harry tightly enough to pop some of his joints. “Got the go ahead to start reviewing some memories.”

“That’s wonderful, that is!” Hagrid exclaimed. “Well, if you’re not too eager to head straight home and begin that, once you’ve been to see Minerva you oughta come down to mine for some tea.”

Harry wavered on this. That sounded truly wonderful, but the possibility of finally beginning to remember the time he’d lost was pulling at him. Though, Harry supposed, he wasn’t supposed to begin on the memories until evening time anyways. He glanced at Malfoy who raised his brows encouragingly. “Yeah,” Harry said finally, “That sounds great. See you in a bit, then.”

The two of them carried on without Hagrid, gravel crunching beneath them as they wound up the path to the castle.

“You alright?” Malfoy asked softly, after a while.

“As I’m gonna be,” Harry said.

They remained silent until they reached the front steps of the castle, where McGonagall stood to greet them with a wave and the warmest smile Harry had ever seen on her face.

“Good morning, boys.”

“Headmistress,” Malfoy’s smile matched hers.

“’Lo Professor, good to see you.”

“And you, Harry. How have you been feeling?”

“Nearly better,” Harry said though he could hardly feel it’s true given that he still had no memories. He realized with an uncomfortable lurch in his gut that by that definition he would probably never be better.

“Getting back to working on your coursework soon, I hope,” McGonagall said as she led them through the halls of the castle. A few students stopped in their tracks to gawp at them as they passed. “While you will have to redo some of the assignments you’ve already done to ensure comprehension, whichever grade – new or old – is better will be the one you keep.”

“Ah,” Harry ruffled his hair, “thanks Professor. I’m not quite sure, yet.”

McGonagall whirled around and regarded him sternly. “What do you mean young man?”

Harry cringed, “That I’m not sure I’m up to redoing them all?”

“Unacceptable.” His professor was positively glowering now. “I haven’t managed to maintain a Defense Against the Darks Arts professor for longer than a year and you and I, Potter, had a deal.”

“A deal?” Harry had known that his plan was to get a mastery in DADA, but he hadn’t been made aware of any such deal.

“Yes. I’ve arranged for my friend Master Dermot Halloran to apprentice you for your mastery and then you were to begin your professorship here.”

“Oh,” Harry said enthusiasm beginning to bubble up over his confusion. “Well that sounds brilliant. I’d love to teach here.”

The idea of teaching was so much more appealing to him than the idea of being an Auror had ever been.

“Good,” Professor McGonagall said in a final tone. “Then I expect you’ll be getting back to your NEWTs as soon as you feel up for it. I’ll ensure that the first weeks’ course work is sent along to you later today.”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry agreed, looking to Malfoy for the first time since they’d entered the castle. He had a small, pleased smile and his eyes were crinkled at the corners.

Right, then. Harry was going to be a professor. They stepped onto the rotating staircase to McGonagall’s office. Several portraits greeted them with friendly waves as they entered the room. Dumbledore and Snape’s were both empty, Harry noted. He wondered if perhaps they’d been forewarned of the visit and decided to hide. Their teacher headed straight to the cabinet with the pensieve and shrunk it to the size of a tea saucer. She wrapped it in packing paper and slipped it into a velvet lined box before handing it carefully to Malfoy, who tucked it into the pocket of his robes.

“Careful with that,” she looked over her glasses at him.

“Of course, Headmistress,” Malfoy said gravely.

Being careful with it seemed a bit more of a challenge when Beauty the boarhound (Harry was aggrieved to learn he’d missed the passing of Fang that summer) jumped all over Malfoy to wash his face. While she was just a puppy, she was still ridiculously massive.

“I know, I know,” Malfoy ruffled his flappy ears, “I smell like Gandalf, don’t I? I really should’ve stopped at home for him and Oscar, shouldn’t I have girl? That way you all could’ve played together.”

It seemed Harry’s life would just continue to become more surreal, rather than less. For most of the visit, Harry sat quietly and sipped on his tea while Hagrid and Malfoy discussed a hippogriff named Ironclaw.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for any kudos and comments - they are much appreciated! Stay safe everyone :)


	7. Part 2; Chapter 7 - Scene 1, Take 2

Part 2

_I was just guessing at numbers and figures  
Pulling your puzzles apart  
Questions of science, science and progress  
Do not speak as loud as my heart_

_-The Scientist, Coldplay_

Harry, Malfoy, Hermione, and Ron sat around the table, staring at the pensieve Draco had just enlarged to the proper size. Next to it sat an open case filled with small glass vials. The moment felt momentous and no one seemed inclined to be the first to break the silence.

Finally, Hermione said, “So they’re organized chronologically, of course. The labels each have a shorthand note with the date and the key event contained within the vials. And then each label’s colour corresponds with who the memory is from. So green is Draco, orange is Ron, and mine are blue. Then there’s red for Ginny, George is pink, Luna’s turquoise – there’s just the one, I think, but it’s an important one. Molly’s memories are purple and Andromeda’s are yellow. Of course, you couldn’t possibly review them all, so we’ve chosen only those most pertinent to your present. ”

There was probably over two-hundred memories in the case, the vast majority were green.

“There’s only three from Ginny?” Harry asked as he skimmed over the vials, feeling a little hurt by it.

Hermione shrugged apologetically, “A lot of the memories that involve her included Ron or me. And she said she didn’t want to clutter up the important stuff. She didn’t think you needed more than those few to understand… well, how things ended between you.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned at the table. After a moment he turned to Malfoy and asked, “You’re coming in with me?”

“For this first one I thought maybe someone should, just in case you find it disorienting or gives you a terrible headache or something…”

Harry nodded, “It should be you.” Malfoy favoured Harry with a small smile. “Have you ever used a pensieve before?”

“No,” shaking his head, Malfoy pulled the first memory of the case.

“It’s sort of like entering into a film, watching everyone act around you. Only they don’t know you’re there at all.” Harry nibbled on his lip. “I’ve never seen a memory with me in it before. It’ll be a bit odd, I suppose.”

Malfoy tipped the vial into the pensieve. “Yes,” he said tensely. “Whenever you’re ready, then. I’ll be right behind you.”

Hermione reached across the table to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. “And we’ll be right here when you get back.”

“Memory’s about half an hour,” Malfoy told her.

Ron held up a textbook _Charms for Covert Operations_ , “We’ll keep ourselves occupied.”

Harry leaned towards the pensieve and studied the shimmering substance inside. It swirled in that strange not-quite-a-gas but not-quite-liquid way.

“Right, then,” he leaned forward and allowed the memory to suck him in.

He landed on damp concrete, next to a towering glass building. It took him a moment to recognize Malfoy, whose face was hidden by an umbrella tilted against the drizzling rain. It looked cold and grey out, but Harry couldn’t feel the temperature. Just as he began to follow the Malfoy of the past, the present version of Malfoy landed next to him, his light dress shirt looking out of place on the stormy street.

“Harry,” he nodded, mouth pressed tight.

“Hey,” Harry smiled awkwardly.

His stomach was twisting with an unpleasant mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Realizing that past-Malfoy was leaving them behind, they rushed to catch up. Harry kept a keen eye out for himself, and from a distance watched his past-self fall to his knees, three dementors swooping in to tower over him. The past Malfoy inhaled sharply, and looked up, seeming to sense the creatures. His eyes widened and he lost the umbrella to the wind, not bothering to try and catch it.

“Pot-” he rasped. He tried again, this time managing to shout, “Potter!”

The-Harry-that-was collapsed on the sidewalk, showing no sign of recognition. He was, in fact, covering his ears with his eyes screwed tight. Malfoy ran towards Harry, stopping a few metres away as a dementor turned to face him with a hiss.

“That’s not good,” Harry muttered to himself as he watched the scene. “Can’t believe I got taken by surprise like that.”

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” past-Malfoy was muttering to himself, pulling his wand out of his sleeve and glancing around. Whether he was looking for help or checking that the scene was clear of muggles, neither was to be found. “Happy memory. I need a happy memory,” Malfoy chanted to himself.

Harry was so fixated on him he didn’t even think to glance towards the real time Malfoy standing at his side. The third dementor, which had turned to watch Malfoy, began to move slowly towards him. Harry had seen them move terribly quickly before and something about the way this one moved made Harry think it wasn’t too concerned that Malfoy would be a threat.

Malfoy stumbled over the spell the first two times. The third time he managed to pronounce it properly, but nothing happened.

“Learning how to fly. Flying,” Malfoy told himself firmly before casting again, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

That one worked, a little at least. A nebulous silver mist flew out from Malfoy’s wand pushing back the dementor closest to him, then winding its way in between the other two creatures and Harry.

Malfoy rushed to Harry’s side and tried unsuccessfully to yank him to his feet. “Potter, get up! Potter!” He ground his teeth, “Come on, Harry. I know you can do these, so get it together and _cast_.”

Harry watched as his other self opened his eyes and pushed to his feet, then cast a solid corporeal patronus just as Malfoy’s mist faltered. The stag drove off the dementors, and Harry fell right back to the ground.

Malfoy immediately began pleading with Harry to get back up again. His face flickered between continued panic at Harry’s state and evident relief that the dementors were gone. He frantically searched his pockets for chocolate as Harry came to and realized just who was crouched over him.

The Harry and Malfoy of present-time stood a ways back as they watched their past selves begin to argue over whether or not Harry needed to be accompanied home. Once Harry’s past-self began to walk away with Malfoy trailing silently behind, Harry finally turned to look at the man beside him.

He seemed more pale than usual and his posture was strung tight.

“You alright?” Harry asked.

Malfoy seemed a little surprised that Harry had noticed something amiss. “Of course. You shouldn’t be worrying about me right now.” He began to pursue their memory before adding, “It was just quite a lot more frightening than I recalled.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “It’s different seeing it play out in front of you than it is to just remember it in your mind, I guess.”

“Yes.”

They carried on in a silence that, at least, felt more companionable than the silence that stretched out between their past-selves walking just ahead.

Once in Harry’s old apartment, Harry took a look around and smiled. He had rather liked the place, as much of a shoebox as it was.

He laughed as the past-Malfoy asked about the telly, then sat with rapt attention once it was turned on. Malfoy of present times shrugged good naturedly in response. Goosebumps raised along the back of Harry’s neck as he watched the news report alongside their past selves. It was clear that the stories of increased suicides and drug problems causing catatonic states were actually due to the dementors. He watched interestedly as the two said an uncomfortable goodnight to one another, and Malfoy left the flat. Looking on as an outsider, it was evident that gears were turning in each of their minds, both troubled about the dementors.

The scene faded to black, and with a swooping sensation, Harry founded himself seated at his kitchen table once more.

“Well,” he blinked a few times, clearing his vision. “That was interesting! Sort of fun, even?”

Malfoy quirked an amused brow up at him. “I’ll give you interesting.”

Harry reached for the case of memories, “I feel great, actually. Let’s do the next one!”

Both Malfoy and Hermione snapped, “No!”

“Absolutely not, Harry. You’re going to cause yourself harm if you over do it,” Hermione chided in that bossy tone of hers. God, she drove Harry mad sometimes.

Turning to Malfoy with a pleading look, Harry hoped he might be able to find an ally. After all, he must be as eager to get through the memories as Harry was.

Malfoy shook his head firmly, though his expression was apologetic. “You heard Healer Brady, Harry. Just one a day for the first three days.”

Resentment unfurled in Harry’s chest, licking up his throat bitterly. “Fine,” he said, pushing out of his chair. “I’m going to go to bed, I think. Long day.”

Never mind that it was only half seven. If he didn’t get away from Malfoy, and Hermione and Ron, and their condescending but regretful faces he would say something _he’d_ regret.

\---

“Morning, Harry.”

Malfoy let his eyes roam over Harry’s face carefully, as though wanting to know how he was feeling, but (correctly) deeming that he’d have his own head bit off if he had the nerve to ask.

“Hullo,” Harry said, heading straight for the kettle.

“This came for you after you went up to bed last night,” Malfoy gestured to a thick envelope sealed with the Hogwarts crest which sat on the table next to a pile of textbooks. “I pulled out your books, as well. And Hermione left her recommended study schedule.”

With a snort, Harry broke the envelope’s seal and scanned it’s contents.

Professor McGonagall had written him up a list of the subjects he was pursuing at the NEWT level, and the course content and assignment outlines. She’d crossed out the assignments they’d decided not to bother having him repeat and stars demarcated the ones he would need to do again.

He was enrolled in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions. All the core subjects with the exception of Herbology, which he couldn’t say he regretted.

Harry dropped the sheets back onto the table and pulled Hermione’s schedule towards him. She’d left a note on the bottom, suggesting he work on one subject at a time as he could do anything he wanted at whatever pace he’d like when it came to coursework, and he had the option to write his NEWTS one by one if he’d like; there were scheduled sittings every other month through the Ministry’s educational department. Hermione had scheduled him in to focus first on Potions.

A noise of amusement from behind him caused Harry to turn to Malfoy, who was clearly trying to tamp down a smirk.

“What?” Harry scowled

“Hermione thought you should start with your least favourite. She reasoned that it’ll take the most effort, so you ought to get it out of the way.”

“Hmpf.”

“I’d go with Charms, maybe, if I were you,” Malfoy said hesitantly. When Harry gestured for him to continue, he explained, “You’re naturally quite good at it and it will keep your interest, so it might be a more enjoyable start. I’d suggest DADA, but it might be a better idea to wait until you’re entirely free of post-concussion symptoms so that you can give that one your all.”

Harry squinted at Malfoy, turning his words over in his mind for possible alternate meanings. Finding none, he nodded, “that sounds like a better idea than starting with Potions, anyhow.”

Malfoy smiled broadly, “I’ll help you with Potions when you get there, if you’d like.”

“Uh, thanks,” Harry nodded before catching sight of the pensieve and case that still sat on the table. “Can we watch the next memory or are you going to make me wait a full 24 hours first?”

“You’re feeling up to it? How’d you sleep?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “I’m fine, Molly.”

“If you think that’s an insult, Harry, you’re dead wrong,” Malfoy said with a fleeting smile before he bit on his lip and frowned for a moment. “Alright, fine. If you’re feeling alright, you can do the next memory. But don’t think you can sweet talk me into more.”

Rolling his eyes again, Harry replied. “Right. Well, you ready?”

“You want me to come again?” Malfoy asked, looking bewildered.

A spike of anxiety shot through Harry’s chest. “Well, er. Yeah. I figured. I mean, if you want to.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Malfoy smiled nervously. “It’ll be less… you know… than the last one anyways.”

Turning off the kettle that Harry had forgotten all about, Malfoy let Harry prep the memory.

“So when’s this one from?” Harry inquired.

“Two evenings after the first memory.”

With a deep breath, Harry plunged in, followed nearly immediately by Malfoy. He watched bemusedly as the past Malfoy showed up unexpected with a teetering pile of old books and a bottle of peace-offering whiskey.

The present Malfoy leaned towards Harry while their past-selves were caught in a moment of awkward silence and muttered, “You kept that bottle unopened for over a year until Dudley found it and decided he wanted to test out if magical drinks were any different.”

The feeling of Malfoy’s breath on his ear made Harry shiver a little, and he shot an elbow into his side. “I’m trying to pay attention,” he hissed.

“Right. Sorry,” though he looked a little sulky about it, as though he wanted to point out that neither of their memory selves had been talking anyways. 

Memory-Malfoy quickly began to campaign for what Harry supposed was the beginning of everything, their working together to find a way to destroy the dementors. He was enrapturing, really. He talked in a speeded, excitable manner that drew Harry in, even if there was the occasional arrogant comment that caused him to bristle. And while his past-self put up some front of reluctance, it was very obvious that he was intrigued by the prospect. Harry found himself sneaking frequent glances at the present day Malfoy, who was watching the scene with a wistful expression. A couple of times they caught one another’s gazes, both turning quickly back to the memory with reddened cheeks.

Once they were back at their kitchen table, Harry chuckled ruefully. “You weren’t kidding about how you dealt with the awkwardness of things.”

“No,” Malfoy smiled, eyes glimmering.

“Or – what did you call it? – my perfunctory arguments.”

At this, Malfoy laughed in a way that warmed Harry. “No.”

They fell into silence for a moment before Malfoy said, “Today’s my last day home before I’m back to my regular training schedule.”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling a little regretful to hear it. “Well, what would you like to do with the day?”

Malfoy regarded him fondly, “It’s your recovery, what would you like to do?”

Harry didn’t want to admit it, but he did have a headache. He wasn’t feeling up for all that much.

“What about a film?”

“Sounds great,” Malfoy stood from the table. “Let’s make up some tea and toast and we can eat in front of the telly.”

Once they’d set their brekkie on the coffee table, Harry turned to the shelves of films.

“Uh…” Thoroughly overwhelmed by the films he instead turned to Malfoy. “What about that Will and Ted Adventure one you like?”

Malfoy pursed his lips, eyes going blank, “No.”

“No? Why not?” Harry asked, affronted.

“Just… not that one, alright?”

“Alright,” Harry shrugged. Malfoy probably had all sorts of irascible moods that had no rhyme or reason to them. “You pick, then.”

Malfoy let out a quiet breath. “Jurassic Park? It was actually the first film we watched together.” He smirked, “You’ll get to that memory soon enough and I’m sure you’ll find it greatly amusing.”

“Sure,” Harry said, flopping down on the couch and letting Malfoy put the film in. He tried not to pay too much attention to Malfoy’s arse as he bent down to pull the film from a low shelf.

Their telly set up was truly amazing. The screen was far larger than any Harry had seen before (and the Dursley’s were always the sort of people who thought that bigger was better). And the surround-sound really immersed you in the film. Despite that, just as he had in the memory earlier, Harry found himself watching Malfoy. The man smiled at the fun moments of the film, and winced when the characters found themselves in danger. Once in a while he’d glance Harry’s way to see what he thought of the movie, and Harry would smile to reassure him.

At one point Harry noted the way Malfoy caught his bottom lip in his teeth, and Harry turned to the screen.

“Who is that actor?” Harry asked casually.

Malfoy flicked his eyes over to Harry’s for the briefest moment before returning his focus to the screen, “Jeff Goldblum.”

“You like him,” Harry accused.

“What, no, I- what?” Malfoy blustered, turning a deep shade of pink.

“Hah! I knew it,” Harry didn’t know why he was teasing Malfoy. They hardly knew one another well enough for it. But he couldn’t help it. And with the adorably rattled look on Malfoy’s face, Harry couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Malfoy heaved a sigh and gave Harry a rueful grin, “Well, can you blame me? Look at the man.”

“No,” Harry smiled back, “I cannot.”

\---

The rest of the day had gone quite pleasantly, really. Harry had given in and taken a pain potion and a bit of a nap after the film was over. Then Dromeda and Teddy had come by again for a late lunch and some time at the park. Throughout the afternoon Harry and Malfoy had sat companionably at the kitchen table while Harry began to review his Charm’s readings and Malfoy worked on an essay for one of his classes. Harry wasn’t sure why Malfoy had chosen to sit with him, rather than in his study. Maybe it was just to keep an eye out for Harry overexerting himself. It felt like more than that, though. It felt like both of them just wanted to be nearby one another, as though watching the first memories had chipped further away at the nervous tension between them.

Hermione and Ron came over for dinner, through which Ron easily carried on a single-handed conversation about the Chudley Cannons. Harry noticed Malfoy ducking his head to hide a smile at Ron’s truly ridiculous enthusiasm. He wondered if, normally, that smile would be aimed at him.

After dinner, Ron and Malfoy headed up to their training room to spar. Apparently they had a bit of an interdepartmental physical defense competition coming up, where the use of defensive magic was strictly prohibited.

Harry was in the middle of defending his choice to start with Charms, rather than potions, to Hermione when Ron walked back into the kitchen.

“Got some ice?”

A red bloom of swelling was spreading across his right cheek bone and up around his brow.

“What the _fuck_ happened?” Harry exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Did Malfoy do that to you? How fucking dare he?”

Ron tried to grab his wrist as he ran past, “Harry! Harry for Merlin’s sake, it was an accident. We were training! _I’M FINE,”_ he bellowed.

Ignoring him, Harry raced up the stairs to the workout room with his heart racing and his own fists clenched in anger. He stomped down the hall to the entrance of the room, ready to tear Malfoy a new one.

How could he have possibly thought that Malfoy had really changed? How could Hermione and Ron have thought it? He was probably just using them to increase his own image. To make himself look better. He clearly didn’t have any real regard for them or he wouldn’t have hurt Ron. And somehow he’d already begun to fool Harry with his charming little smiles and his quiet laughter and his bullshit earnestness.

Harry faltered in the doorway. Malfoy was sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball in the back corner of the room. He had his fists, wrapped in boxer’s tape, pressed into his eyes and his shoulders were shaking. All of Harry’s anger sapped out of him. He crossed the room and slid down to sit next to Malfoy.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Malfoy said after a minute. “Just got carried away. I was angry.” He took a deep breath and added, “About everything.”

“Yeah, Ron knows it was an accident.”

Malfoy huffed and peeled his hands away from his eyes so he could look at Harry. They were watery and red-rimmed. “It’s not Ron I’m worried about.”

Smiling a little to reassure him, Harry said, “Well, I was all ready to come up here and give you a piece of my mind. But…” he waved a hand towards Draco.

“I look so terribly pathetic?”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “Didn’t have the heart to, in the end. Come on,” Harry stood up and offered a hand to Malfoy. “Let’s go check on Ron. He’s probably not even going to let Hermione heal it; I bet he’s excited about how tough it’ll make him look.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos welcome! Stay safe and healthy everyone <3


	8. A Dragon and a Dursley

Reaching back over his shoulder, Harry rubbed at the infernal bump on his back. He’d first noticed the spot yesterday, but today it was so much worse that when he’d swiped his loofa over it in the shower it had hurt. With a wave of his wand, he defogged the mirror, then twisted awkwardly so he could get a view of what he was dealing with.

He hardly noticed the angry spot next to the dark inky dragon that was twining itself around the centre of his back. Harry let out an involuntary shout of surprise.

“Harry?” The sound of footsteps came rushing down the stairs and Malfoy banged on the door to the bathroom. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

There was an edge of panic in his voice and Harry immediately felt badly for frightening him.

“No- nothing. Fine. Don’t worry.”

Harry scrambled to towel himself off and pull his pajama pants up before opening the door. Malfoy bit down on his lip and kept his gaze firmly on Harry’s face.

“So what were you hollering about, then?”

“It’s just…” Harry turned and pointed over his shoulder. “What is this?”

“A tattoo,” now that his panic was determined to be unfounded, Malfoy sounded as though he was holding back amusement.

“Right.” Harry craned his neck trying to catch a glimpse of it. “Of a… dragon?”

Nodding, Malfoy raised his brows just slightly, confirming the significance of the tattoo for Harry.

“Right,” Harry repeated.

Now chuckling, Malfoy pushed past him into the bathroom and picked up a hand mirror, gesturing for Harry to stand in front of the mirror over the sink again. Malfoy angled the hand mirror so that Harry could see the tattoo properly.

He wasn’t sure what breed the dragon was, but it consisted of shimmering grey scales that ranged in shade from pewter to pearl. It danced around the middle of his back, twisting and turning happily.

“How is it, Harry, that you haven’t noticed this tattoo in the last two weeks?” Malfoy asked drolly.

“Well it’s not exactly easy to see.” Harry snapped, irritated that Malfoy was judging him. “And it’s not as though I need to look at my back to give it a wash. I only noticed now because I was trying to reach- ah, er…”

“That horrific spot?” Malfoy asked, contritely biting back his amusement once more.

“Yes,” Harry flushed.

Malfoy pulled out his wand, “Here.” He drew a circle around the spot, murmuring a spell Harry couldn’t catch and a cool tingling spread across Harry’s back.

Twisting around Harry found his skin clear and smooth. “Huh.”

“That spell helped me survive fifth year,” Malfoy confessed.

Harry had always been… jealous, he supposed, of Malfoy’s perfect complexion. Especially during fourth year when Harry had to suffer through photographs of himself plastered all of the Prophet for months on end.

“I need to head off to my seminar in a few,” Malfoy said, pulling Harry out of his reminiscing. “But I wondered about having Dudley over for dinner? He’s been asking.”

“Oh,” Harry blinked. “Uhm, sure. How do, uh… we get a hold of him?”

“We’ve got a cellular. It’s kept in the centre drawer of the desk in the study. I’ll give him a quick call before I head out if you’re sure you’re alright with it.”

“Yeah,” Harry rushed to say, trying to make up for how disconcerted he was. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“Great,” Malfoy gave him a gentle smile. “We’ll order pizza. Don’t overdo it today. If you want to do the third memory without me, go ahead. But if you’d rather wait for me, that’s fine too. I’ll make sure there’s time before Dudley’s over. I’ll be home around five.”

“Alright,” Harry nodded. Then, feeling as though he ought to, added, “Have a good day.”

“Thanks,” Malfoy’s smiled widened, and he leant in towards Harry, lips puckered slightly. Malfoy fully stumbled backwards when he realized what he’d been going to do and he stuttered out an apology, looking horrified.

Harry stretched his lips into something between a sad smile and an uncomfortable grimace, “Don’t worry about it.”

Malfoy fled, closing the bathroom door behind him. After a moment of staring at the closed door and pondering how the motion of kissing Harry goodbye had clearly become second nature to Malfoy, Harry picked up the hand mirror and studied his tattoo some more.

It was really quite beautiful.

If he knew himself at all (and Harry hoped he hadn’t changed that much in his missing months), he wasn’t the sort of person to get a tattoo on a whim. And he wasn’t likely to get one that didn’t have significant meaning behind it. The dragon that had now curled up and settled down in the centre of his back was a symbol of commitment.

\---

The tattoo discovery made Harry eager to watch the next memory. So as soon as he heard the front door close behind Malfoy, he headed downstairs to the kitchen. He skipped breakfast in lieu of plunging right in.

It was sort of lonely, to be viewing the memory on his own. It was a fairly light one, though. Harry went to Malfoy’s fancy, sterile flat in Diagon Alley for their second intentional meeting. He laughed to himself as he watched Harry from the past try to unnerve Malfoy, and put them back on more even footing. He sort of wished he could see the present-day Malfoy’s expression as their past-selves negotiated terms for their project and, as though playing a calculated game, pushed one another’s buttons.

Once finished with the memory, Harry looked wistfully at the full case. He headed over to the fireplace to floo Andromeda and ask for a visit. She and Teddy popped out into the kitchen a few moments later with a platter piled high with pancakes and kept him successfully busy for the morning. By the time they’d gone back home at half noon, Harry was exhausted. He collapsed into bed for a few solid hours of sleep.

\---

When he woke, it was to sound of Malfoy greeting Dudley genially and the smell of pizza. Harry cast a general freshening charm on himself and changed into new clothes before following the delicious scent down into the kitchen. Three large pizzas were laid out on the table between the two men who were bantering.

“I swear it, Dudley,” Malfoy grinned, he’d changed out of his Auror robes into a loose pair of trousers and an oversized knit sweater and Harry couldn’t help but notice how very good he looked. “They recommend we turn our skin camouflage because there are counter-charms to disillusioning ourselves- you know making our selves nearly invisible so long as no one’s paying too close attention- and they’re too cheap to buy enough invisibility cloaks for the force!”

Dudley looked highly skeptical, “Is this revenge for the time I told you Freddy Mercury was real royalty? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I told _Hermione_ that!” Malfoy retorted, doing his best to look offended but clearly having fun with it. He noticed Harry at the doorway and dropped the hand he was flapping Dudley’s way. “Harry! Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

Dudley ignored the slight thrum of discomfort in the room and smacked a large hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Hey mate! How’ve you been feeling?” He didn’t wait for the answer before he began pointing at the pizzas, “We’ve got a classic pepperoni and mushroom, that one’s a meat lover’s,” (at this he chuckled approvingly, leaving Harry to wonder if it was meant to be an innuendo) “and this last one’s got some vegetables, in case you don’t think that tomato sauce counts as your daily serving.”

“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Malfoy said, amping up his posh accent for the effect.

Harry took the plate Malfoy offered him wordlessly, reminding himself that this was not an alternate universe. He took a slice of each, and was rewarded with an approving look by Malfoy. His appetite _was_ up, Harry realized.

“So,” Dudley said mouth full of pizza, “How _are_ you feeling?”

Malfoy frowned delicately, “Dudley, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Dudley chewed dramatically for a moment before swallowing and firing back, “Okay posho. So, Harry?”

“Uhm alright, I suppose. Bit tired, but getting used to things.”

Shaking his head in bewilderment, Dudley said, “I used to wish I was magic, but with all the mad stuff that happens to you, I’ve changed my mind.”

Malfoy grimaced sympathetically at Harry.

“Ah, it’s alright, Dud.” Harry brushed off the reminder of how shite the situation was, “Tell me what’s been going on with you over the last year or so.”

Dudley easily divulged every detail of the flat in London that he’d moved into, the mechanics training program he’d finished in December, the new girl he was seeing, and the story of the first time he’d met Malfoy. Apparently, he’d apparated right into the middle of a dinner that Harry and Dudley were sharing.

“He was gaping like a fish,” Dudley shared, before roaring with laughter.

“Yes, well. I thought I’d be in some trouble for showing magic to a muggle, didn’t I?”

Dudley responded with a dismissive noise and tossed a chunk of cheese and sausage into Oscar’s open mouth. The owl had been inching across the table towards the meat lover’s pizza throughout dinner. Whining, Gandalf pawed at Dudley’s legs until he dropped an even larger piece of pizza for the crup.

A surprising warmth spread through Harry as he regarded his dinner mates. Malfoy leant back in his chair, shaking his head good naturedly and chiding Dudley for teaching bad manners to their pets. He looked the most relaxed that Harry had seen him since all of this began. With perhaps, the exception of when he had been playing with Teddy the other day.

This Malfoy was different than the one Harry could remember. This Malfoy was playful, easy to smile. He was still quick, and a little sharp, but caring, too. Harry wondered if this Malfoy had always been there, or if he’d changed over the year and a half that Harry had forgotten. If there were changes, had Harry noticed them happening while they’d been working together on the dementor problem? He must have, Harry mused, because _this_ Malfoy was terribly attractive, and his past-self had obviously done something about that.

Harry and Malfoy both saw Dudley to the door. Once he’d left (after squeezing in another story about something embarrassing one of his mates had done at a pub last Friday) Malfoy turned to Harry.

“Did you end up seeing your memory for today? I’m sorry, I figured you probably needed your sleep before Dudley arrived more than anything.”

“That’s fine,” Harry smiled softly. “I did watch it.”

Malfoy returned the smile, “That’s good. Do you think you’d prefer watching them on your own?”

Harry shrugged. It did feel a little voyeuristic to watch memories of the two of him on his own. “Do you have a preference?”

Rolling his lips inwards, Malfoy took a moment to think. “There’s a few I’d like to do together, if you don’t mind. But most of them if you’re alright on your own that’s fine. Will you talk to me if you have any questions or concerns about them?”

“Sure,” Harry promised. “Sounds like a plan then.”

Malfoy met Harry’s eyes for a long, aching moment, then stepped further back into the hallway. “Right. That’s good. I’m just going to take Gandalf out for a bit, then. Goodnight.”

After heading up to his bedroom, Harry quickly gave into temptation and peeked out the window to spot Malfoy and Gandalf. Malfoy stopped for a moment to chat with Diggle who was on door-duty, letting the Auror ruffle Gandalf’s ears enthusiastically. Then he headed down the street with the puppy. His shoulders were tense and he glanced around frequently, Harry noticed. He must be feeling nervous about being out.

Frowning, Harry grabbed a book and decided to wait in the sitting room until the two made it back safely. Diggle probably would have ensured they came back home, Harry knew. But he wanted to make sure for himself. When they returned and Malfoy looked surprised to see Harry up, Harry told him he just couldn’t sleep after his long nap earlier.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update, been busy hand-making Christmas gifts to make up for holiday gatherings being cancelled due to COVID's second wave in my part of the world. Happy New Year everyone, I hope you're all safe and well!


	9. In the News and in a Name

The breakfast sandwich that was shoved into his face looked delicious, Harry had to admit. An everything bagel with cheese and egg overflowing the edges.

“You know,” Harry said. “I managed alright on my own yesterday morning.”

“Yes, but you clearly can’t be trusted to spend more than a few hours to yourself,” George retorted, eyes sparkling. “Relax, mate. Can’t a fellow spend some time with his recently seriously injured friend without being accused of alternative motives?”

Harry smiled in resignation. “’Course. Thanks for the food.”

The curled up in the sitting room on chairs that looked too fancy to risk dropping greasy breakfast food on and dug in.

“So,” Harry broached the subject with his mouth full. “Pansy Parkinson?”

He’d seen them together twice since returning home. That morning after he’d invited Malfoy to move back in and then the other night for dinner. They seemed to have an easy camaraderie between them, something that Harry, with his miniscule amount of relationship experience, figured was rather important.

“Yup,” George popped the p.

“How’d you meet?”

The answer to that became clear as George both raised his brows and pulled his mouth into an apologetic smile.

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“We first met when you and Malfoy brought everyone in on your charm to destroy the dementors. She definitely… intrigued me. Then for months we’d see each other at different events and whatnot. I didn’t think I was ready for anything like that though, y’know?” He smiled dreamily to himself. “Then at Halloween she walked right up to me and said that she was done with waiting for me to make the first move.”

Harry sipped at his tea, thinking over the tidbits that George had told him that night in the hospital. “You seem really happy.”

“I am,” George sounded a little surprised about it himself. “She makes me laugh. Helps me out with the shop too. She’s got a brilliant mind for business, which you know, was more of Fred’s side of things.”

“Then I’m happy for you.”

The pleased look on George’s face reminded Harry so strongly of Arthur Weasley that he couldn’t help but grin in return.

"So…” George began.

“If you ask me how I’m doing,” Harry interrupted flatly, “I’m going to scream.”

George diverted smoothly. “Wanna play a game of exploding snap?”

\---

Searching for something you couldn’t remember having was a whole new level of frustration, Harry thought as he hauled himself up into the attic of Grimmauld Place. Especially in a house with so many damned rooms. He’d already thoroughly searched his bedroom, the master suite, the sitting room, drawing room and even Malfoy’s study to no avail.

Standing with his head ducked to avoid the low hanging eaves of the roof, Harry surveyed the space. The attic was reasonably large, and jam packed full of crap that had somehow survived both the great purge of 1995 and when Malfoy and Harry had redone the home. Thankfully, from small round windows on both the north and south sides of the attic sunlight streamed in, illuminating dust particles floating lazily through the air.

Damn George for forgetting about this until hours after he’d left Grimmauld Place. An owl (an orange and purple feathered owl no less – apparently George had bred them specifically to do WWW’s deliveries) had shown up at Harry’s window an hour ago with a pleading letter and a crude drawing of the prototype that Harry had supposedly agreed to store for him weeks ago. Oscar, who apparently never met another living creature he didn’t immediately take to, greeted the owl with ecstatic cooing and wing flapping.

George’s letter explained that the object was a sensitive piece of magic, that wouldn’t do well with the many other enchantments and charms in his shop (or his flat on the floor above the shop) until it had settled for the proper amount of time. Squinting his eyes as though it would help him filter out extraneous objects, Harry looked for the orb. It was apparently glass at the centre, wrapped within thin strips of various metals, similar in appearance to a remembrall. George said it was meant to capture sounds for replaying at a later time. Harry had no idea whether it was meant to be used as spy-ware or like a muggle CD player.

There were towering piles of books pushed up against the walls, a dummy that looked as though it had served as target practice for a variety of nasty curses, and an old rocking chair that, ominously, rocked back and forth on its own volition. Sighing as he realized the object wasn’t sitting out in the open anywhere, Harry wove through the detritus until he found a likely storage place- an old leather wrapped chest pushed up against the south window of the room. Harry had to push a rack covered in ostentatious cloaks- made of fur, dragon hide, and one particularly tacky one that was entirely green and silver sequins- out of his way. Then he dropped to his knees and unlatched the chest.

He realized immediately that it didn’t hold what he was looking for. But what it did hold was far more interesting. Harry reached in and pulled out several of the papers that laid on top. The chest was meticulously organized, the piles within were neatly aligned and they appeared to be organized by date. He laid those he’d pulled out on the floor around him in a semi-circle.

While Harry wasn’t always the lead story of the papers surrounding him, he and Malfoy, or one or the other of them, were featured on every single front page. Swallowing the knot in his throat, Harry turned back to the chest and drew out the rest of the papers, loosely piling them up so that the oldest were now at the top of those that surrounded him on the floor.

Most were editions of the _Daily Prophet_ , though there was an occasional _Quibbler_ thrown in the mix. Evidently Harry had given Luna an exclusive on his coming out. By the time he’d emptied the chest out around him, Harry had a distinct taste of bile on the back of his tongue. The things the _Prophet_ said were absolutely terrible.

The oldest paper, save from those that spoke about Harry’s testimony at Draco and Narcissa’s trials, had a photograph of a distressed looking Harry cradling an unconscious Malfoy in his arms as he walked down a dark street. _What is Going on Between the Saviour of the Wizarding World and his School-Yard Rival, the Contentiously Acquitted Death Eater Draco Malfoy?_

_We Must Take Action to Free the Saviour of the Wizarding World from Malfoy’s Malicious Manipulation!_ another headline screamed.

One that wasn’t wholly terrible informed: _Controversy at the Ministry: Draco Malfoy to be Given Order of Merlin Second Class for Role in Destroying Dementors Alongside Hero Harry Potter._

It was immediately followed by _Coming Out with Style and Scandal_ and a photograph that showed Malfoy pulling Harry in for kiss as they entered a formal ball hosted by the Ministry, Harry smiling up at Malfoy dazedly as he pulled away.

_Malfoy using Imperius Curse to Seduce the Boy Who Lived!_ was accompanied by a picture of Malfoy kissing Harry sweetly on the cheek.

“Why would I ever want to keep this trash?” Harry whispered to himself, horrified.

He picked up another paper, from late summer that read: _Malfoy’s Patronus is a match for Harry Potter’s, says Source Close to the Couple- Perhaps it is True Love After All?_

Harry jumped as he heard Malfoy call his name from within the house. For a moment, he felt awash with guilt, and was tempted to throw a tidying spell behind him to hide the evidence and rush out of the attic. Oscar gave him away though, hooting gleefully as he flew up into the attic and landed on the cloak rack. Malfoy’s head popped up through the trap in the floor a minute later. He had to stoop quite a lot more than Harry did once he’d fully emerged into the attic, and it took a moment for his eyes to land on Harry. When they did, his mouth twisted in dismay.

He picked his way across the room gracefully, then crouched down on the other side of the newspaper fort Harry had ensconced himself within.

“You weren’t meant to see these,” Malfoy’s tone was soft, his eyes focused on the papers.

“Why would we keep these?” Harry asked, at a loss. Last he remembered he’d refused to subscribe to the _Prophet_ and its toxic hype.

“Not we,” Malfoy said regretfully. “Just me. You didn’t ever know about it.”

“Oh.” Harry stared at Malfoy, willing him to look up and meet his eyes. As though magnetically drawn, Malfoy slowly turned to look at Harry, cheeks flushing pink. The sunlight caught in his hair, setting it aglow. “Why would you do that?”

Malfoy’s gaze faltered once more, and he picked up a paper to rifle through the pages. “To remember, I suppose.”

“To remember?” Harry’s brows flew up incredulously.

“Yeah, I-” Malfoy shook his head, “I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense, that’s why I never told you.”

“Try me.”

Malfoy hesitated for a long moment before he said, “To remember what most people think of me, maybe. But also to remember what we’ve been through together.”

Harry turned this over in his mind, not sure that he did understand at all. “I don’t think this is how I’d like to go about remembering,” he said firmly.

With a gentle smile, Malfoy said, “Good. I’d rather it not be. It tends to be quite inaccurate.”

Smiling in return, Harry looked back to the paper he still held. He turned it around so Malfoy could see the headline about their patronuses. “Is this true?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened for a second, before his smile broadened. “Yeah, that’s true. Pansy leaked it to get them off my back. She claimed she was worried that you might burn down the _Prophet_ offices otherwise.”

“Didn’t help much, did it?” Harry waved his hand at the many papers that had been published since. Despite the warmth that had blossomed in his chest when Malfoy confirmed the truth about the Patronuses, he wasn’t ready to let go of the anger that reading the papers had spawned. “They deserve to be burnt down.”

With a shrug, Malfoy said, “You taught me how to do a Patronus, you know.”

“I just watched the memory of that, well of the beginning, a couple of hours ago,” Harry grinned as he replayed it in his mind. Malfoy had been snarky and nervous as he tried to learn the patronus. In what could only have been an attempt to cheer the man up, past-Harry had turned on the telly, finally landing on Jurassic Park. They’d watched the whole film together, just as they had the other day. Though in the memory version, Malfoy hadn’t stopped running his mouth through the entire thing.

“Thought you’d get a kick out of that one,” Malfoy chuckled. Then, he added seriously, “When I first managed the charm, it was a leopard. Then, after that… a stag.”

“Oh…” Harry’s voice caught.

He was overwhelmed and confused. The last week of living together had been tense and awkward and somewhat forced, even with those few, shining moments where’d they’d been able to relax and be themselves. But it felt as though they were on the edge of something, maybe. And Harry so, so desperately didn’t want to lose the chance to build back whatever it was he and Draco had had. Malfoy watched him steadily, waiting.

“Hey… If- if what we had was good,” Harry stammered, “don’t give up on me.”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound quite as pathetic as it did, but there it was. Harry was well aware that the last week hadn’t been any easier on Malfoy than it was for him. He stared hard at the wall of newspapers between them. Long fingers closed warmly around his wrist, and Malfoy called his name softly. He waited for Harry to meet his eyes once more before he said, “I won’t.”

Nodding, Harry took a deep breath to push away his emotion. “Do you know where George’s damned sound orb prototype thingy is?”

Laughing gently, Malfoy stood and pulled Harry up with him. He flicked his wand and sent the papers flying back into the chest. “Pretty sure that you put it in the hidden closet.”

For fuck’s sake. “There’s a hidden closet?”

“Missed it on the grand tour the other day. I’ll show you,” Malfoy promised, guiding Harry back across the attic.

\---

The kettle slowly worked its way up to a boil as Harry watched drowsily.

“Watching that will do you no good,” a wry voice said behind him.

Harry jumped and whirled around, “Oh, morning M-” He cut himself off uneasily.

In the nearly seven days since Malfoy had moved back in Harry hadn’t been at all certain what to call him. He’d dealt with it by avoiding calling him anything at all, which had been working alright. The name issue was just one of many tensions that continued to thrum between them. Another one at the top of the list was how attractive Harry found Malfoy.

Draco’s tall, slim figure strode through their home with a frankly unreasonable amount of grace. The previous night he’d walked right up behind Harry to reach into the cabinet for a spice that Harry had been struggling on his tiptoes to grab. Then he’d apologized for getting into Harry’s space, looking uncomfortable and guilty that he’d done something he likely would’ve done without a second thought a month ago, just as he had with the near kiss the other morning. Harry, who found himself a little too interested in the feeling of Malfoy brushing up behind him couldn’t do anything but turn red and stammer in response.

And then, there was his hair. Malfoy either left it down, accentuating his collar bones at it brushed gently against them, or tied it into a knot at the back of his head, which highlighted his jawline and long neck. And his piercings - something about them drove Harry wild. The hoop in his eyebrow would glint when he raised his brow and smirked at Harry in a way that was definitely more flirtatious than any of the smirks Harry could remember seeing on Malfoy before. Several times now Malfoy had given him such a look and then quickly withdrawn, shyness overtaking his features. Harry found that just as attractive, strangely endearing. Twice as often as that, Malfoy would open his mouth to say something and clearly think better of it, leaving his lips slightly ajar in a way that left Harry wondering how it would have felt if Malfoy _had_ kissed him goodbye that morning.

It was strange to have lost his memories of slowly coming to terms with his sexuality. Now that he’d woken up to the reality of it, it was ridiculously obvious. He wasn’t easing his way into his attraction for Malfoy, he’d been plunged in deep. To his credit, Malfoy did seem to be trying not to make it harder on him.

“You’re avoiding calling me by name, aren’t you, Harry?” Malfoy asked now, snapping Harry out of his daydreaming.

“Er…” Harry grimaced. He really hadn’t thought it was obvious. “Yeah. I have. I’m not exactly sure what to call you. I mean, neither option really seems right.”

Using Draco seemed a little too personal, still. Like jumping ahead of the point they’d been forced to rewind to. And calling him Malfoy would probably be hurtful, given their relationship.

The man sighed heavily and sat at the kitchen table.

“I’m sorry. That’s not fair of me,” Harry said, hoping that his regret came across as genuinely as he felt it.

“Nothing about this is ever going to be fair to either of us,” Draco replied, eyes tired and shoulders slumped.

The piercing whistle of the kettle cut between them.

“Want some tea?” Harry asked, turning to the stove to begin fixing some.

“Please. Not as strong as you have it, with milk if you don’t mind.”

Harry smiled a little to himself as he poured the water. He didn’t turn around to see Malfoy’s reaction as he said, “I know how you take your tea, Draco.”

There was a moment of quiet before Draco replied, “You do?”

“Of course,” Harry answered adding the requested milk and turning back to the table to set their cups down. “I pay attention.”

He’d hardly done anything but pay attention to Draco. And there was a lot to pay attention to.

Draco was not at all how Harry remembered. He brought tea and coffee out for the Auror’s on duty several times during the hours he was at home. He walked around their home in dressy trousers, large knit sweaters, and wool socks that were surely made by Molly. Harry had overheard Ron poking fun at Draco for wearing suit pants around the house, Draco insisted that they were far more comfortable than denims. Harry wasn’t sure about that, but he couldn’t argue that they _looked_ great on Malfoy.

Things that would have absolutely flattened him to discover about Malfoy at the start of this were already beginning to make perfect sense to Harry. It was as though he was assembling a puzzle of who Draco really was, and now that he’d gotten some of the key pieces in place, the rest of it fit perfectly.

Draco was ambitious and determined, yes. And back at school Harry would have counted those as terrible traits that proved Draco was a shadow of his detestable father. But now Harry recognised that Draco’s ambition was fuelled by earnestness, by his want to learn and to contribute to the world. Draco was specific, sometimes to the point of rigidity. But he was also playful and witty. He could be stern, but it was tempered by how freely he expressed fondness. Watching Draco with their friends and even with Oscar and Gandalf, caused Harry’s insides to melt. In comparison, Draco held back with Harry. Each unsaid thought, each move to reach for him followed by withdrawal and a furtive look to see if Harry had caught on, if he was uncomfortable or angry about the slip up. It made Harry long to break that barrier.

How could he know when it would be the right time, though? They’d been living together for less than a week and Harry and Draco had had so much between them that Harry didn’t even remember from before they’d even begun their romantic relationship. He hadn’t seen more than a fraction of it yet. He didn’t want to rush things and make it too confusing for either of them. While Harry found that his heart ached in response to nearly every look Draco sent his way and he certainly couldn’t deny how attracted he was to Draco, it was all just too much.

Draco beamed at him as he sipped on his tea. “It’s perfect, thank you Harry.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as he sat down across the table from him. “I’ve been avoiding saying your name, but you’ve been…” Harry settled on “guarded,” feeling it sounded reasonably diplomatic. “It seems like you, I don’t know… censor yourself in front of me? You’re so much different when there’s other people around. Or you’ll joke a little and then just… shut down?”

Smile faltering, Draco drew himself up proudly, “No I-” he faltered, taking a slow deep breath instead. “I… I’m afraid. I’ve been trying really hard not to be. To just be myself. Hermione keeps telling me that that was who you’d… well. That that’s the best course of action. But it’s hard to do when I’m so fucking…”

“Afraid?” Harry couldn’t imagine whatever of.

Draco focused on his tea, pale lashes hiding his eyes. “I’m afraid that every interaction between us, before, needed to happen in just that way… every conversation, every event, in order for you to have feelings for me. I’m afraid I am going to muck everything up. And my tendency is to put up walls to protect myself. I- I don’t want to do that with you, but Merlin,” he raked a hand through his hair, “it’s hard.”

_God_. Harry’s soul was preparing to clamber right out of him to reassure Malfoy.

He reached a hand across the table and wrapped it around Draco’s wrist. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Eyes flitting up to Harry’s, Draco smiled sadly, “No?”

“No,” Harry replied firmly. “I’ve got feelings for you. I mean,” he shot Draco a wry smile, “they’re terribly confusing feelings. But they’re not bad feelings. And they’re there.”

Draco huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe before you decided you’d made such a terrible mistake in being with me you staged everything just to rid yourself of memories of me."

Harry gaped at him for a long moment before realizing that Draco wasn’t being at all serious. “You ridiculous, dramatic git!”

“I’ve been holding back my dark humour around you for a week,” Draco bemoaned while he blinked innocently at Harry.

Harry couldn’t hold back the laugh that barked out of him.

“Well,” Draco said, looking down sadly at the last half of his tea, “I’d best be off. Can’t get away with missing any more of my training seminars.”

“Right,” Harry said, feeling a little wistful. “Have a good day, then.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These were some of the first scenes I imagined for this story but I had the hardest time deciding what order they should go in the plot, so hopefully it feels like it flows okay! I finally feel like I'm getting my groove back, so hopefully posts will be a little more frequent (though I definitely can't promise anything, sorry!)


	10. The Weasley Marathon

Saturday morning Harry and Draco decided to watch the next memory together. In it, Harry dragged Malfoy along to Grimmauld Place to practice his patronus against a boggart. Given the fate of Malfoy’s father (sentenced to the dementor’s kiss for his war crimes), Harry had been correct in guessing the boggart would take the same form for Draco as it did for Harry. It was strange to see Grimmauld Place as it had been. Dark, dirty, and unwelcoming. It was strange that Harry had become so accustomed to the place as a warm home after only about two weeks.

Harry watched Malfoy from the past make peace with Wallburga black’s portrait and laughed a little at the look of surprise on his own face. He watched both versions of Draco look apprehensive as past-Harry released the boggart and stood back to let Draco give it a go. With some discomfort, he watched as his past-self needed to step in. As they stood facing off over a bar of chocolate. And as, over some tea (a well-timed offer from Kreacher- so _why_ couldn’t he have been so on top of things that night last week when Draco showed up at their front door?), they offered apologies to one another. 

On landing back in their own, well-lit version of Grimmauld’s kitchen, Draco looked uncomfortable.

“Let’s talk Gandalf for a walk,” Harry suggested.

When Harry had first arrived home and was house-bound Ron had been taking the crup out for his daily walk. Otherwise, Kreacher made sure that the pup made it out into the garden when he needed. Then, there had been those few days after Harry was allowed to leave his home, but before Draco had moved back in when Harry would go out with Gandalf and whomever was around to accompany him. But since Draco had moved back in, he’d been taking the lead with walking Gandalf. Harry wasn’t sure if that was the habit they’d had before, or if it was just that Draco needed an escape. Either way, he hadn’t felt quite right about inviting himself along.

After seeing the alertness with which Draco carried himself the other night when he’d taken Gandalf out, Harry decided perhaps it would be better if they went together. It might be a good opportunity to get to know each other more, after all. They could make it a daily time together.

It didn’t quite turn out how Harry had imagined.

Firstly, Oscar threw a near fit that they wouldn’t let him join them. It was the middle of a Saturday and they were headed for a muggle park, though. Finally, Draco tossed him a large piece of jerky. “You spoilt brat,” he muttered, in a tone that held both fondness and irritation.

It was a rare, sunny day, and after nodding to Proudfoot at the front door, they headed off with the excitable puppy. In absolute silence. The silence vacillated somewhere between comfortable and brittle for what felt like ages. Harry scraped the depths of his mind for a conversation starter but came up blank every time. Draco intently studied strangers as they walked past.

How was it that after opening up a little to each other, after asking one another to be themselves, to not give up and exchanging reassurances, this could still be so painfully awkward?

Draco let out a huff of amused laughter as he watched a woman in her thirties trying to corral five spirited children. “Reminds me of Molly,” he murmured.

And that was the whole of their conversation.

Once back at Grimmauld, they headed their separate ways to complete homework.

\---

Moonlight filtered into the hallway as Harry tiptoed down it, not wanting to wake Malfoy in his room across the way. He was headed for the kitchen and a strong mug of tea to push away the nightmare he’d just woken from.

He frowned when he saw light climbing up the stairs from the floor below. He found Draco at his desk in the study, with his hands buried in his hair. His auror robes were hanging off the back of his chair and his badge rested on the writing top beside a scattering of papers and a quill balanced in a half-empty ink bottle. Gandalf was sprawled on the floor in front of the desk, dead to the world.

“Draco?”

Harry’s voice made the man jump.

“Oh, Harry! Hello.”

Catching sight of the clock on the wall opposite the desk, Harry said, “It’s two in the morning, what on earth are you doing?”

For a long moment, Draco stared at Harry, as if debating how he wanted to respond. Finally, he heaved a sigh and said, “It’s been two weeks since you were attacked. And we’ve no news from Longeman or his team.”

Harry approached the desk and scanned over the papers Draco had been studying. One was a list of Death Eaters and their relations. Another had notes about the location the attack had occurred at (a nearby muggle park) and the time (late evening).

“So you’re planning some vigilante justice?” Harry asked, interest peaked.

Brow furrowing, Draco replied, “Well that’s hardly what I would call it. It’s just… two weeks with no progress. The case is basically a write off at this point. But I’m not allowed to be involved, and Longeman is particularly cautious about giving me any form of update so… I just thought I might do a little thinking on it myself.”

“Ron’s been helping,” Harry noted, leaning his hip on the desk and picking up a piece of parchment with his friend’s distinctive scrawl. It listed all muggle surveillance cameras in the area.

“Yeah, he’s got a great mind for the investigative work. I’ve been systematically compiling a list. Going through the records of Death Eaters and their family members, thinking of anyone who might want revenge on you.”

“Or you,” Harry remarked. “This whole thing hurts you just as much.”

“Or me,” Draco nodded. “A lot of people hate me, but most of them hate me for allegedly bewitching you, so I don’t think they’d be all that likely to attack you in response. There’s certainly a few people who might fit the profile of hating us both, though.”

“People are idiots,” Harry grumbled.

Draco smiled his thanks. “Once I’ve narrowed it down a bit, I’ll pass it on to Longeman. His team hasn’t exactly _asked_ for this information but I - I need to do _something._ ”

Harry could understand that.

“There’s also the matter of the dementors targeting you last year,” Draco continued. “It might be connected. We never really figured out anything about it, we were so focused on the dementors right in front of us.”

“They were targeting me?” Harry asked, not feeling as surprised by this as he’d like.

Wincing, Draco replied, “Shit. Sorry. You haven’t gotten to the point in the memories where we figured that out, have you?”

“Nope.” Harry picked up the sheet with the Death Eater’s family names and nibbled on his lip.

“There wasn’t anything in the weeks before your attack that made us worry, so whoever did it was careful to avoid suspicion if they were casing out the right opportunity.”

Harry frowned at that. “What if something had happened and I didn’t tell you about it?”

Smirking, Draco said, “Harry, you told me everything relevant about your life.”

“What if it was something irrelevant?” Harry questioned.

“You told me nearly everything irrelevant too,” Draco contested.

“Oh really?” Harry leaned forward across the desk towards Draco, suppressing a grin. “Like what?”

“Like everything you ate each day and every other human, dog, and squirrel you and Gandalf ran into on your walks.”

“Huh,” Harry let his grin loose. “Well, you must be a good listener.”

He took great pleasure in the blush that tinged Draco’s cheeks.

“Let me help,” Harry said. When Draco appeared hesitant, he pushed forward, “By that I meant I’m helping. We obviously made a good team with the dementor stuff.”

Staring down at the pages of notes in front of him, Draco sighed. “Fine. But we can talk more about it tomorrow, let’s go to bed.”

\---

Harry stepped out of the floo and some part of his heart that had been askew clicked into place. Sunlight streamed into the sitting room and the smell of cinnamon and baked apples drifted from the kitchen. Molly rushed into the room just as Draco stepped out of the floo behind Harry.

She wrapped Harry tightly in a hug and, reminded of his first night home when he’d cried in her arms, he felt emotion tangle in his throat. Since Draco had been back, Harry knew she was trying to give them some space to sort things out, so he hadn’t seen her in a while. After some of the difficult conversations that he and Draco had begun to breach and the day spent raking through lists of possible enemies trying to find ones that would have sufficient motivation to want to hurt both Harry and Draco, Harry desperately needed some maternal comfort.

On impulse, he whispered, “Hi, mum.”

Molly choked back a whimper and squeezed him even closer. “I’m honoured to be given even a fraction of space next to your mother in your heart,” she whispered into his ear.

When Harry pulled back, wiping furtively at his tears, Draco took his place in Molly’s arms. Harry was surprised to see that Draco hugged Molly just as desperately as he had. He bent awkwardly over so he could bury his face in her shoulder and hung on several moments too long.

“Oh, my boys,” Molly said with a tearful smile.

They followed her back into the kitchen, avoiding one another’s eyes. Fleur stood at the window with a baby in her arms, looking out into the garden. Her eyes lit as she turned to them.

“Ah, Draco, ‘Arry!” The full effect of her bewitching smile washed over them as she gave them both a kiss on each cheek and passed the baby to Draco, “’Ere, take Victoire, she misses her favourite uncle. ‘Arry, how have you been?”

Harry answered Fleur absently as he watched Draco coo over the baby in his arms. Reaching to run her fingers through Draco’s silky hair, she giggled. They looked as though they could be truly related, Victoire’s downy curls the same white-blond. Harry couldn’t believe that he’d missed this little girl’s entire life. He remembered that Fleur was pregnant, sure. It had only just been announced in the last of his memories. But to see her, maybe ten months old…

“’Arry,” Fleur chided gently, calling his attention back. She regarded him steadily with her cool blue eyes. “You’ve overcome far worse than this.”

A shiver ran down his spine and he swallowed heavily. He nodded a few times before Fleur instructed him to go out into the garden to say hello to everyone else and then turned to Draco, to begin a conversation in rapid-fire French.

For a moment Harry stood and watched them, astounded that Draco was so smoothly fluent. Shaking his head, he went out into the yard where Ron and Bill were chasing Teddy around as Andromeda and Arthur chatted.

“Harry!” Arthur wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and carried on his conversation with Dromeda about muggle food preservation techniques and the best ways in which to pickle beets. As though it were a perfectly normal fatherly act.

Maybe the Weasley’s were acting especially parental to ensure that Harry knew they were here to support him as he recovered?

But when the conversation on pickling had run its course, Arthur turned to Harry and asked, “Draco inside? I’ve got some new computer parts I need to show my favourite son-in-law!”

“He’s your _only_ son-in-law,” came Hermione’s amused voice from behind Harry. A rush of warm air left the house along with her as she came to stand with them.

“’Mione!” Ron called, panting for breath and bending over his knees, “You’re late!”

“Two-thirty rather than two-o’clock is _not_ late for dinner. Just because I’m missing out on a half hour of the Weasley marathon doesn’t mean I’m late. Half your siblings aren’t even here yet anyways!”

“Draco’s not my only son-in-law,” Arthur protested. “There’s Percy’s fellow. Ray?”

Hermione smirked, “Don’t let Percy hear you saying that. They’ve been on one date, Arthur.”

“Well, all the same,” Arthur frowned. “I’m off to find Draco.”

When Ginny showed up, Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. She’d been nothing but reassuring when she’d visited him at St. Mungo’s, but he couldn’t imagine she and Draco were on good terms.

Evidently, with everything that he’d been witness to since letting Draco back into his life, he should’ve expanded his imagination. Ginny popped out of the floo in the sitting room where Harry had curled on a couch chatting with Hermione and Andromeda. Quickly, she pecked them each on the cheek, then turned towards the kitchen door and hollered, “Dray-Dray!”

Draco emerged with a wry grin, “Call me that again Weaselette, and you’ll wish you never introduced me to the bat-boogey hex.”

“Psh, like you could out-hex me,” she smirked as Draco wrapped her in his arms and picked her up off the ground.

“I certainly could,” Draco insisted, pulling back to study her. “Your hair looks phenomenal.”

Ginny preened dramatically and fluffed at her hair. Harry hadn’t even noticed, but it was shorter than it had been last week at the hospital, cut into a soft, waving bob.

“Like it?” she asked. “I let Luna do it.”

“Love it,” Draco replied solemnly.

“Wonderful. All I want is your style approval.”

Harry leant over to Hermione and whispered, “What. Is. Happening.”

“Oh,” Hermione rolled her eyes, “they’re always like this.”

Ginny and Draco moved onto discussing Quidditch. “Harry,” Ginny looked back to him, “I’ve got my first game of the spring season a month from this weekend, you’ll be there right?”

“Gin, I don’t know…” Draco wavered. “It’ll depend on how he’s feeling.”

“I need you _both_ for good luck!” Ginny insisted.

Shooting a scowl at Draco before turning back to Ginny, Harry promised, “I’ll be there.”

The Weasley’s had always been there for Harry. They’d always been concerned for his safety (and not just because Ron’s safety tended to be tied to Harry’s). They’d always done their best to include him. But after the war, Harry had felt as though he ought to give them some distance. Some time to manage their grief. He couldn’t help but feel as though he was intruding whenever he’d come for dinner in the time that Harry could remember after the war. He couldn’t help but feel as if all their loss was his fault. He’d insisted on moving out of the Burrow and into his flat.

And yet.

And yet, over the months that had been scrubbed from his memory, they’d truly, undeniably become not just his best mate’s family but _his_ family. Draco’s family. Harry wondered about what Longeman had told him about Draco’s mother; he certainly wasn’t brave enough to probe into that any time soon.

Over the next hours, the rest of the Weasleys (and Pansy) arrived and they all crowded around the dining table together, talking over one another. Draco, who was sat at the far end of table from Harry, caught his eye and quirked a brow up, silently checking in. Harry nodded, to let him know that he was alright. And he was. Or, he would be.

He was sat amongst fourteen people who he could call family.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! 
> 
> Also, has anyone watched Schitt's Creek? I just finished the last season, so if you're not caught up SPOILER ahead, but I just really feel like David and Patrick have such Drarry vibes and need someone to geek out about it with!


	11. The Questions Game

“Niamh,” Harry jumped up onto the medical bed and fixed her with his most earnest stare, the one that usually worked well with Professor McGonagall. “Please tell me I can go up to two memories a day.”

“Well, Harry. That depends on your results. And how you’ve been feeling – no lying.”

“I’m feeling great,” Harry reassured her as she began the charms to check his vital signs. “My appetite’s back. Haven’t really had any headaches. I am ready to pick up the pace on remembering things.”

Niamh hummed thoughtfully. “And how have things been with Draco?”

“Interesting,” Harry said. “We’ve been talking, you know. But it’s still so awkward. Like… how do you even begin to move past this? I need to get to know him all over again, but he knows all these things about me that I don’t even know I’ve told him. We’re on such uneven footing. And then he’s worried that I won’t like him anymore. I dunno. It’s messed up. If I can catch up on the memories a bit quicker, it would help, I think.”

After taking a moment to jot down Harry’s results, Niamh said, “You can go up to two memories a day for the next four days. Then, if you’re still feeling good, you can do three. I don’t think we can push any higher than four memories a day at any point in time though, so don’t get too excited. It will still take a good while to catch yourself up.”

“I’ll take it!” Harry replied jovially.

“As for the awkwardness, I might have an idea…”

\---

“Draco!” Harry greeted enthusiastically the moment that Draco walked in the door. Harry had been waiting in the sitting room, listening for the crack of apparition for the last half hour. “I’ve got an idea!”

“Do you?” Draco replied, amused. He hung his robes on the hook that looked like a unicorn’s horn and bent down to pet Gandalf.

“Yes,” Harry said, “Let’s take Gandalf for a walk before dinner and I’ll tell you all about it. We can get some dinner while we’re out or something.”

“Your appointment with Healer Brady went alright?” Draco asked worriedly.

“Yeah, I can go up to two memories, then three after a few days. I’m recovering well, she said.”

Draco let out a little gust of relieved breath and pulled his cloak back off the hook.

Bundled up in scarfs, they headed out as the sun began to set. Given the time of day, Oscar was allowed to come along and he swooped joyfully above them. Harry had decided his plan would go more smoothly if they could walk and not have to look at one another as they talked; he waited until they had found a good pace before he began.

“It’s like a game to get to know each other better. It was Niamh’s idea, really. Credit where its due and all. But we each ask each other questions and then we have to answer that same question ourselves. I know it’ll be a bit odd because you’ll already know most of my answers, but pretend you don’t, just for the sake of, you know, getting to know one another again.”

“Sure,” Draco smiled indulgently as he tugged Gandalf away from a tree stump that held some interesting smells. “Who goes first then?”

“What’s your favourite colour?” Harry asked.

“Blue, light, winter sky blue,” Draco replied promptly. “Yours?”

“Red,” Harry said.

A laugh burst out of Draco. “Liar,” he accused. “Your favourite colour is green, because you think it looks good on you – which it does. You just don’t want me to know because you think I’ll gloat over the fact that it’s a Slytherin colour.”

Harry scowled, “You’re not supposed to call me out.”

“Sorry,” Draco pressed his lips together, looking not at all sorry. “What’s your favourite sweet?”

“Treacle Tarts. Or Chocolate Frogs. Yours?”

“Did you know that you’ve a Chocolate Frog card now?"

“Ugh. I did not.” What an unpleasant discovery.

Draco chuckled, “I’m partial to the good semi-dark chocolate from Honeyduke’s. The kind Professor Lupin used to keep in stock.”

Harry took note of that before asking his next question, “What was your favourite class in school?”

“Potions. Or – don’t laugh- I did rather enjoy History of Magic.”

Harry did laugh. History of Magic would have been boring even if it were taught by someone with some range in their tone of voice. “Mine was DADA, obviously. Well, at least the content. The only year I ever truly enjoyed the class was when Lupin taught it.”

“What is your favourite time of year?”

“Autumn,” Harry replied without hesitation. “Going back to Hogwarts.”

“Me too. And something about the air during autumn…”

“What do you like to do for fun?” Harry asked (the third on a long list of questions he’d drawn up after his appointment that morning).

Draco smiled, “Well this is one you already know most of the answers to. I enjoy Quidditch, chess, movies, walks with Gandalf, time with our friends…” He hesitated, and while his cheeks were already flushed in the cool air, Harry was pretty sure they darkened with embarrassment.

“And?” Harry prompted.

“Drawing. But that’s not usually considered a proper past time for a young wizard.”

“It’s not?” Harry wrinkled his nose, dumbfounded. “But it’s art! Dean used to draw all the time in school!”

“Well Dean’s muggleborn, isn’t he?” Draco glanced sideways at Harry with a teasing twist to his lips.

“I guess. So you don’t like to talk about it, then? Did you do those drawings in the study? They’re brilliant.”

“I did, thank you. I never used to like to talk about it. I’d have to hide it from my father. My mother would owl me supplies without his knowledge.”

Harry wavered on the edge of asking Draco about his mother, but remembered he was meant to answer the question as well when Draco raised expectant brows. “Er.. I like Quidditch as well, obviously. Relaxing with friends. Cooking. I can always get into a good movie,” he smiled at Draco, feeling as though this was the sort of thing two people might connect over on a first date.

Draco smiled back warmly, then hummed in thought. “Let’s see… What food do you hate?”

Harry stopped in the pathway to look seriously at Draco. He ignored Gandalf barking in impatience and said, “I would rather have to deal with the resurrection of Voldemort than ever eat Haggis.”

Bright laughter spilled out of Draco, “You’re a dunce.”

“Well what’s your answer then?”

“Cantaloupe,” Draco curled his lips in disdain. “It’s such an unpleasant texture.”

Harry rolled his eyes and began to walk again. “When you were little, what did you want to do when you grew up?”

“I wanted to study dinosaurs and draw their skeletons,” Draco replied instantly. “You?”

“That’s cute,” Harry laughed. “I wanted to be a superhero… one of those heroes with an alter-ego. No one would know I secretly had super powers and saved them from all sorts of evil. I was just scruffy little Harry, after all.”

Draco turned to Harry, his brows tugging down even as his lips curled into a surprised smile. “I didn’t know that one.”

“Really?” Harry found himself pleased to hear it.

“Really. Sounds just like you, though. You were always brave, weren’t you?”

Harry bit his lip and broke the eye contact, which had caused something of a riot in his stomach. “It’s your turn.”

“Alright, what is your favourite meal?”

“Real focused on food aren’t you?”

“Well you’re the one who put dinner off for this game of yours.”

Harry scowled at him, knowing that Draco was just teasing. “My favourite meal is Molly’s roast with the rosemary potatoes. Yours?”

“Anything deep fried and greasy – never got much of that growing up. And Merlin, was I missing out.”

They were nearing the far end of the park they’d been strolling, and the night was getting dark. Harry pointed towards the glimmer of street lights guiding them forward, “There’s a fish and chips place just across the road there, isn’t there? We’ll grab some of that, shall we?” Draco nodded and Harry moved onto the next question on his list, “Did you ever have a pet as a kid?”

“Just family owls,” Draco shrugged. “But I always wanted a crup, didn’t I Gandalf?”

Draco bent down to ruffle the puppy’s fur and received a broad lick across the face. Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. This game was going rather well so far.

They carried on like that for a while, batting superficial questions back and forth. Favourite song, funniest embarrassing memory (Pansy had once caught Draco dancing through his dorm in pajamas whilst singing a Celestina Warbeck tune into his hairbrush).

It was Harry who broke the lightheartedness of it, after they’d finished their dinner on a park bench and began to head back towards Grimmauld. Harry figured Draco was letting him take it at his own pace, and he was running out ideas for the light and easy stuff.

“What is your worst memory?”

Draco pressed his lips tight, the colour bleaching out of them. He took a steadying breath before saying, “The day that the three of you were dragged into the manor. You’re all the most important people in my life now, and I didn’t have the courage to do what I should have to keep you safe then.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, completely surprised that was how Draco thought of the day. “You lied. You clearly knew who we were and you didn’t say anything. That’s why I testified for you.”

He was grateful he had that memory, at least.

“I could’ve done so much more. Hermione…”

“I really don’t know that you could’ve,” Harry said dubiously.

Draco hummed, then said, “You don’t have to answer this question in return, if you don’t want to, Harry.”

Harry glared at Draco, who was illuminated warmly as they passed under a street light. “Sure I do, that was the rule of the game. To make it so we could get to know each other as we are.”

But he couldn’t answer the question right away. After all, he had an array of traumatic experiences to choose from.

“Watching Cedric be murdered,” Harry whispered into the dark. “If we hadn’t agreed to work together, if we hadn’t wanted things to be fair for both of us… Maybe I would’ve left him behind and he’d still be alive.”

Draco reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand gently.

“Your turn to ask a question,” Harry prodded.

“What is your happiest memory?” Draco asked, clearly wanting to counter the previous question.

That didn’t quite work as he’d intended because Harry felt his stomach turn leaden as he thought of all the photographs hung in Grimmauld Place. “I’m pretty sure I don’t remember.”

“Fuck,” Draco hissed. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“No, it’s… you didn’t mean…” Harry looked over to Draco helplessly. He didn’t want him to feel badly. He was sure that the fact of it hurt Draco just as badly as it did Harry, after all.

Their eyes locked and Harry felt himself waver towards Draco.

“Can I… can I give you a hug?” Draco asked uncertainly.

Harry nodded, his throat too tight to answer otherwise. Instantly, he was enveloped in Draco’s arms. Harry clutched the fabric at Draco’s back. They buried their cold noses into one another’s necks. Harry inhaled the scent of peppermint that Draco carried. Draco gave a small sigh, and Harry could feel all the tension release from his muscles.

Harry could’ve stood there like that all night. But Draco pulled away.

“Let’s call it quits and head home for the night. Make up some hot cocoa, what do you say?”

“Alright,” Harry nodded.

“I’ll give you my answer if you want,” Draco offered, waiting for Harry to nod before he continued. “My happiest memory is a day that we just lounged around home together. I’d never really felt at home, anywhere. At the Manor I always had to be so careful, so clean and proper. And then, of course, we had some unsavoury houseguests. And I spent a lot of my time at Hogwarts hiding a huge part of myself. The first time I ever really felt at home was with you. And not,” Draco shot him a rueful smile, “just at Grimmauld once we’d done it up how we wanted. But at that dumpy little flat before. I think I’d feel at home anywhere so long as it was with you.”

Once again, Harry found himself speechless. He reached for Draco’s hand and gave it a squeeze as Draco had done for him earlier. He didn’t let go the rest of the walk home. He was well on his way to understanding just what Draco meant.

\---

The charms textbook stared at him, accusingly. Harry had already fallen behind on his study schedule, the calendar was flashing an angry red colour (Hermione had updated it with his charms assignments). And he _had_ just watched his two allotted memories for the day.

But right next to the book sat the pensieve. And right next to that sat the case of memories. And he felt alright, really. He hadn’t had a headache in several days, not even during dinner at the Burrow, where, as usual, several Weasley siblings had gotten in a shouting match over Quidditch plays.

What harm could it do, really? To watch just one more. He couldn’t help that the memories he was missing made for a really good story. He’d watched, stomach twisting in horror, as he and Draco realized that a little muggle girl, out trick or treating on Hallowe’en, had been subjected to the dementors kiss. Her parents would never understand what really happened to her. The pallid, drawn faces of her parents were so impactful Harry wondered how he ever could have forgotten them.

And all the while, there was Malfoy, channelling the rage he clearly felt as much as Harry did into something productive. Treating the girl’s parents with compassion while gaining the information they needed to confirm their next steps. Making a plan to investigate the pressing issue of dementors plaguing the streets of London, rather than only focusing on researching ways to destroy them. This memory, Harry realized was why his past self had been able to move on from his concerns about working with Malfoy.

The second memory wrenched at his heart as well as he was met with Draco’s tear-reddened eyes following a visit with what remained of his father, the sentence of a dementor’s kiss having been carried out months previously. Harry felt a rush of pride in himself when his past-self didn’t drop it and leave as the other boy asked, but opened the door for them to share more of themselves, to let their emotions be what they are.

It was all so intriguing. How did they manage to destroy the dementors? And how did they work through everything from their past to get to where they would’ve been now, if Harry’s memories hadn’t been stolen? Watching the beginnings of it excited Harry. It reminded him of renting the first series of the X-Files the July following the war in an attempt to distract himself from the noise of his own brain. He’d rushed through every episode and then gone right out to rent the next series. There was a terrible urge to rush through all of his memories to see just what happened. He was cheering for their success and he noticed his heart swoop a little each time his and Draco’s past-selves made progress with one another.

More importantly, even, was what Draco had said to him last week. He was worried that Harry wouldn’t fall in love with him again if Harry didn’t experience all of their interactions the same way.

So Harry reached for the next memory, another green labelled vial marked _Nov 2, Map._

He landed in Draco’s Diagon Alley flat. Immediately his attention was drawn to the large map that had been pinned on the wall the day previous. Draco was studying it intently while Harry’s past self sat on the floor, flipping through a text. He watched with dread as Draco caught Harry’s attention and pointed out that Harry was at the centre of the dementor attacks. He could see guilt flash across his own face. And he couldn’t help but smile as Draco recognized it as well, immediately landing on a solution: they were going to patrol the streets of London each night. 

Landing back at the kitchen table, Harry shot one more furtive look towards Hermione’s study schedule.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, pulling out the next vial.

The next memory was of their first patrol together. They’d picked a street that, according to the files Harry had obtained from Diggle, the Aurors weren’t able to patrol, but which was within the zone of sightings outlined on the map. Harry had attempted conversation several times, only to be continually rebuffed by a tense and anxious Draco. That night, they didn’t encounter any dementors. Harry talked Draco into coming back to his flat for a fry-up and a film afterwards.

Harry didn’t even pretend to hesitate before plunging into the next memory.

He pursued memory after memory. He watched as they patrolled the city streets, he watched as they studied together and went for afternoon strolls to clear their minds. He watched as they talked about what they both wanted out of the future. He watched as his past-self told Draco about the nightmares he gets sometimes, and as over a late night game of chess, they decided they were friends.

The long row of Draco’s memories was broken by a single pink one. Harry watched with interest as he confessed his friendship with Malfoy to George, who was a surprisingly great listener. He picked up the next green vial and felt his heart fly at the look of happiness on Draco’s face when past-Harry told Draco that George knew they were friends. He watched as Draco studied the Black family tapestry in Grimmauld Place, and Harry encouraged him to meet Teddy and Andromeda.

And, Harry realized, his past-self was well on his way to falling in love with Draco Malfoy by the end of November, 1998.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments welcome :) Stay safe everyone


	12. Seeking Clarity of Mind

A terrible kink in his neck was the first thing Harry became aware of. The second was a cool hand on his forehead. Then the whoosh of the fireplace once, twice. The tingling sensation of a spell cast over him.

“Harry, for Christ’s sake,” a voice grumbled. A deep breath, then, more gently, the voice said, “Harry. Harry, wake up.”

He cracked his eyes open and winced at the light. Merlin, what a terrible headache he had. Before he could complain about the brightness, Niamh’s head was blocking the source of light. She looked sideways, and it took Harry a moment to realize that it was actually his head that was sideways, pressed against the unforgiving dining table.

“You a muggleborn?” Harry asked. She’d sworn like a muggle.

“I am. Are you an idiot?”

Peeling his head off of the table, Harry frowned at her. It wasn’t at all like Niamh to have such poor bedside manner. Speaking of bedside, why was she in his kitchen? He caught sight of Draco over her shoulder, he was still wearing his Auror robes and his jaw was held tight.

“Do you remember what you did?” Niamh prompted in a sarcastically patient tone.

Looking back to the table where a dozen vials rolled askew, Harry remembered with a sudden rush just what he’d done. He clutched at his temples as confusing memories flooded his mind.

“Yes.” Niamh said. The way her lips pursed reminded him of McGonagall. “It does seem as though you’ve binged on memories until you passed out, doesn’t it? Luckily your vitals are all fine. And when I say luckily, I don’t mean it lightly. You may have nine-lives Potter, but you’re down another one today.”

She passed him a pain potion and waited for him to gulp it down before carrying on with her lecture. “You could have caused yourself serious brain damage today. As it is you’re probably going to have a massive headache and dizziness for the next day or so. You’ll certainly have some confusion around the memories you watched today for a long time, possibly forever. That said,” she flicked her eyes over to Draco, “he is not to rewatch them. You may talk through them when he is feeling better and do you best to untangle them that way.”

“Yes Healer,” Draco said solemnly.

Niamh jabbed a finger at Harry, “Lots of rest. No more memories for the rest of the week. I will see you in my clinic Monday at nine a.m. and we can discuss whether you may return to reviewing memories any time in the foreseeable future. _Understand?_ ”

Shame washed over Harry. His eyes landed on the tabletop. “Yes, Niamh.”

“Good. Now I’m going to have dinner with my boyfriend.” She turned to Draco, “But call me if he has any intense disorientation, dizziness, or worsening headache, alright?”

“Thank you, Healer Brady,” Draco sighed.

Once Niamh had floo-ed away, Draco pulled out a chair and sat next to Harry.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to look up and see the expression on Draco’s face. “Are you angry with me?” he whispered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco rake his hands down his face. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before he replied, “No. In retrospect, it’s surprising that it took you this long to do it. You’ve always been an impatient git.”

“That’s true,” Harry muttered, now looking up so he could fix Draco with his most contrite expression.

Draco favoured him with a weary smile. “Are you hungry?”

Nausea twisted up Harry’s throat, “ _No_.”

“Then let’s get you up to bed, shall we?”

\---

Harry’s dreams were fragmented and stressful. On waking, a sharp headache pushed out all memory of what it was he’d been dreaming about anyways. With relief, he found a pain potion on his side table which he took down in a series of small sips. The sound of soft voices drifted from downstairs.

He would have liked to have said that he didn’t need a babysitter. But Harry both didn’t have the ground to stand on after yesterday, and literally could not stand. When he tried, he fell back onto the bed, awash in nausea and vertigo.

Draco came in a moment later, accompanied by Molly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Harry worriedly.

Groaning, Harry mumbled, “Like I will learn from my mistakes.”

“Good. I wanted to let you know I’m on my way to training. But Molly has graciously agreed to take care of you.”

True to form, Molly took great care of Harry throughout the day. She ensured that he took the potions left by Niamh on time and, to Harry’s great embarrassment, helped him walk to the toilet when he needed it. Thankfully, Harry slept for much of the day and felt a fair bit better by late afternoon.

When Draco arrived back and sent Molly on home, Harry wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or trepidatious. But when Harry turned down dinner, Draco simply pulled a chair up to Harry’s bedside and asked if he was feeling confused about the memories he’d seen.

Draco sat with Harry, helping him untangle the memories. Harry seemed not have lost any parts of the memories he’d seen, luckily. He just needed a little help clarifying them and sorting them into a mental time line. It was as though the lens into his memories was fogged, blurring what Harry could see. Draco came along and wiped away the fog for him.

What Harry remembered most clearly were the feelings he’d seen playing out on his own face. The conflict of working with Draco shifting into admiration, trust, and more.

“Draco?” Harry asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “When… when did you start to have feelings for me?”

Focused on the patchwork quilt as he was, Harry couldn’t see the expression on Draco’s face. But he did hear him let out an amused huff of air.

“Fourth year, Potter.”

This was enough to cause Harry’s gaze to shoot back up to Draco. “ _Fourth year?_ ”

Draco was smiling ruefully. “Give or take. Ask Pansy and she’ll insist that it was actually first.”

“Huh.” Harry mulled this over.

Perhaps he ought to let Draco know how early he could see the signs of his past-self falling for Draco. Perhaps he ought to let him know that between their time together in present day and reviewing the memories, Harry of current times was nearly there too. In the end, he decided he didn’t want to rush it. Instead, he pushed back his embarrassment as Draco walked him to the washroom, and waited outside the door to walk him back to bed before saying goodnight.

\---

“Mr. Potter,” Longeman greeted dispassionately, passing his robe off to Kreacher without so much as a glance his direction.

“Auror Longeman,” Harry replied in an equally cool tone. “Thank you for meeting me.”

If his appreciation came out as insincere, well, so be it. He was rather miffed that Longeman hadn’t arranged an update meeting himself. Harry had had to owl and request one that weekend after he’d begun to talk with Draco about the case. And then the Auror had put Harry off until Thursday. Harry had an inkling the man was trying to remind Harry that he wasn’t such a big deal, assuming he needed to be knocked down a peg just as Snape had always done.

They settled into the sitting room and accepted tea fixed by Kreacher. Harry wished that Molly hadn’t felt the most proper thing for her to do was hide in the kitchen. She was over to help make sure he got on well enough again today, even though he felt much better. Molly could’ve taken Longeman down a peg himself, Harry figured.

“Mr. Potter,” Longeman said after a long slurp, “I wish I could give you better news. We had no stand-out suspects in your case, though we are, of course, following several leads. There have been no concerns noted by the Aurors patrolling your property, which is both a good and a bad thing, as it means the perpetrator is too smart to reveal themself.”

“What are your leads?” Harry asked, leaning forward from his chair.

“Some members of the Dolohov family have been brewing up a gang of wizards with anti-muggle sentiments.”

Harry hummed, clasping his hands between his knees and looking down at them. That sounded like one lead, not ‘several’. After a moment he looked back at Longeman, with his best pierce-into-your-soul gaze. “Are you looking into anyone who may have wanted to hurt Draco Malfoy?”

Longeman raised a greying brow. “Well, there was Narcissa Malfoy, but you seemed to think that unlikely.”

He did find it unlikely. Frustratingly, though, he and Draco hadn’t really been able to come up with anyone that fit the “may want to hurt the both of them” categorization who was any more likely than anyone else to have assaulted Harry. The best they could come up with was the Greengrasses wanting vengeance after Draco reneged on their marriage agreement, but Draco felt it was rather a stretch for the pureblood family, known for its moderacy, to go after the Saviour of the Wizarding World. All the same, they’d decided to make a visit to Astoria Greengrass soon.

“I can’t recall if I mentioned it to you, Mr. Potter, but according to your house elf you and Mr. Malfoy had been having a row just prior to your assault.”

Harry’s stomach squirmed at hearing that, but he strove to keep his reaction internal. He thought over the last weeks. Of how Draco had pushed back his obvious worry to help Harry recover from his memory binge the last couple of days, without guilting him regardless of how much Harry deserved it. Anger burned away any trace of uncertainty in his gut.

“He didn’t do it,” he replied in a low growl.

Longeman nodded, not as though he agreed but as though he’d expected as much of a reaction from Harry. “We will, of course, keep you informed of any important updates,” he said.

Harry took that to mean: _you oughtn’t to have arranged this meeting and wasted the valuable time I’m spending NOT solving your case._

Bastard.

“So the guards on the doors?” Harry ventured, without much hope.

“Are to remain in place for now.”

Harry allowed Kreacher to see the Auror out and headed back to the kitchen where he discovered Molly had whipped up a batch of chocolate and butterscotch cookies. So there was that, at least.

\---

Pulling the dusty curtain back, Harry craned his neck to catch a glance of the Auror on duty at the front door. It was Zinnia Belmore. That was good; while she was nice enough, he didn’t feel as though it would be a total betrayal to pull one over on her. If Diggle were on duty he wouldn’t have been able to go through with his impulse.

He headed to the main floor and pulled a pair of trainers on. Then he crept down to the kitchen and out the door into Grimmauld Place’s small garden. Frost coated the cobblestone patio, and Harry had to grab hold of the doorframe so he didn’t slip on his first step out the door. That would be a shame since all he could think about all day yesterday was how badly he wanted to go out for this run.

It was his first day truly alone in weeks. And he desperately wanted to be alone. It was strange, because from what memories he had from last fall, he was rather lonely. But lately his house was never empty. At most he’d had a couple of hours to himself and usually he was too tired to do much more than sleep when he did. Hermione and Ron were there whenever they weren’t at work. Molly and Andromeda dropped in frequently to ensure he was being properly taken care of. And of course, there was Draco. His house was full of Draco. Which was more enjoyable than Harry would have expected, but still. Draco took up a lot of space. Not physically, really. But mentally. Emotionally.

Then there were the Aurors. Longeman had been infuriatingly both useless and condescending during their meeting yesterday. Harry was still being kept prisoner in his own home and frustration was bubbling up inside him.

All he wanted was to go for a run by himself, like he would usually do to cope with his stress. The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the ground always sorted his thoughts out for him. Pushing himself to run past his limits always left him feeling elated. The cold air cleansed the tight anxiety from his chest. The lengthening and contracting of his muscles loosened and relaxed him. Despite his ill-advised memory binge on Tuesday, Harry was back to feeling healthy and full of energy.

And anyways, he was the wizard who defeated Voldemort. He could keep himself safe on a run. Checking that his wand was secure in the strap on his forearm, Harry grabbed onto the fence and vaulted over it. He glanced back to ensure that Zinnia hadn’t cottoned on to his escape, then jogged off down the alleyway.

Harry returned, feeling just as good as he’d known he would, an hour later. Kreacher’s panicked face met him as soon as his feet landed in the garden.

“Mr. Malfoy is home,” the elf whispered ominously.

Grimacing in response to Kreacher, Harry let himself into the kitchen. Draco was standing in front of the dining table, arms crossed and expression livid. The red of his uniform’s sleeves really emphasized his tense, muscled arms.

“Thought you were meant to be at training all day,” Harry said, trying for a casual tone.

“I was summoned back by Auror Belmore,” Draco said coolly.

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Draco’s tone became mocking. “Did you think all the Aurors do is stare out at the street to make sure no one meaning you ill blatantly comes and knocks down your front door? They’ve got all sorts of charms to monitor who enters and exits the home, Harry. There’s a battalion of them out looking for you right now!”

“Well,” Harry spread his arms sarcastically, “Here I am. I’m fine. Just fancied a run.”

Draco closed his eyes and pushed a sharp breath out of his nostrils. “Just fancied a run?” he asked in a dangerous tone.

“Yeah. I’ve been feeling cooped up is all,” Harry replied sullenly.

And now that he was back in the kitchen, cornered by Malfoy, the constricting feeling was back full force. The lights in the kitchen felt too artificial, the stainless steel appliances too clinical.

“Harry – Ron, Ginny, or I would all happily go for a run with you. Between the three of us I’m sure you could go for a run every day.”

“I didn’t ask _you_ to take care of me,” Harry growled.

“Maybe not, but it’s just part of the deal when you’re in a relationship.”

Harry bit back the response he wanted to give, which was _we’re not exactly in a relationship are we?_ And settled for a surly, “I wanted to go _alone_.”

“For fuck’s sake Harry, there is a _reason_ for the Aurors posted at the door. There is a _reason_ you’re not to be going out alone right now!” Draco shouted.

“I think I can manage to keep myself safe for an hour long run in a muggle park, Draco. I’ve survived a lot worse, as it happens.”

“Except for the fact that very recently you almost fucking DIDN’T!” Draco was so angry now that he was flinging his arms for emphasis. Harry thought that if he did so just a little more aggressively he’d lose balance and tip himself over. “And yet, you seem to believe you know better than a team of trained Aurors.”

“I’m not stupid, Malfoy!” Harry snapped.

Draco’s eyes popped wide, “What is it with you and believing I think you’re stupid? I don’t think you’re stupid, Harry! I think you’re an arrogant, stubborn, ARSE though, with no regard for your own wellbeing. First you fry your brain because you decide that the healer’s orders don’t matter and then you can’t even wait four damned days before this?”

Harry drew back in affront, “You said you weren’t angry about that!”

Draco flung his arm at Harry some more, “I _lied_ , Harry. _I_ _lied._ ”

Well then.

“Naïve of me to begin to believe that you had some compassion for how shite this situation is for me and actually cared about someone other than yourself,” Harry remarked bitterly.

He knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that he was way, way out of line. In fact, the accusation hardly even made sense. But his blood was boiling in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

“Are you seriously calling _me_ selfish right now?” Draco hollered. “You have no fucking clue, Harry. You have no idea how terrifying this has been for everyone that cares about you! If you did you wouldn’t be jaunting off for foolhardy runs. And you know what? If it’s selfish of me to be scared for your safety, to be upset that _my partner doesn’t even remember me_? Then that’s fine by me.”

Draco let his hands fall to his side, chest heaving. Harry felt himself soften, just a little. But not enough to let go of his anger.

He was just opening his mouth to make some sort of retort (he had no idea _what_ just yet, whatever would come out would do just fine, he was sure) when Draco spoke again, this time so softly it was nearly a whisper.

“Just, please Harry, ask for someone to join you next time. They can run two metres behind you for all I care.” 

He watched Harry with steady, grey eyes until Harry gave in and nodded his agreement.

“Thank you,” Draco sighed. “I’m going to go let Zinnia know you’re back alright, then… and head back to class.”

“Okay,” Harry acknowledged in a small voice.

He sat down at the table and watched Draco’s retreating back. For a moment there, right in the heat of things, Harry had a thrill of excitement. He hadn’t seen intensity and passion like that from Malfoy since… fifth year, probably. He’d been so downtrodden all through sixth year and subdued after the war. And while he was certainly starting to open up around Harry, he still had an air of caution to him, like he didn’t want to push Harry. For a moment there, with Draco’s eyes sparking and his muscles tensed, Harry hadn’t been sure whether he wanted to shove Malfoy or snog him.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) I hope you enjoyed and stay safe!


	13. Nightmares and Memories

A shout tore itself from Harry’s throat as he flung himself up to a seated position and his wide, panicked eyes surveyed the dark room around him. A moment later the door swung open to reveal Draco’s silhouette, his wand held aloft.

“Harry? Are you alright?” He asked, his tone as tense as his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Harry gasped, untangling himself from the sheets. He added worriedly, “Are you?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? I mean, you gave me a bit of a fright…”

“Yeah, sorry.” Harry said as Draco took a few more steps into the room. “Nightmare.”

Even though most his nightmares recounted the past, Harry was always a little worried that there might be a psychic component to them. Like whatever cosmic power rules prophecies might be drawing on whatever Harry’s brain already possesses to let him know that someone was in danger.

He’d been dreaming about Draco. It had been a fragmented dream, jumping from scene to scene. Now that Harry was awake the bits of it were slipping from his mind. A falling chandelier, blood and water mixing on a tiled floor, the feeling of searing heat.

“Could you just… come here?” Harry asked in a small voice.

Draco sat on the edge of Harry’s bed without hesitation. Never mind that they’d hardly spoken since Friday.

Harry had written Ron and Hermione and begged them to spend most of the weekend at Grimmauld to act as a buffer. He suspected that Draco had done the same with Pansy and George, as they hadn’t been alone for a minute all weekend.

Everyone had the good grace to pretend that the state of Harry and Draco’s fragile relationship hadn’t regressed. Everyone, that is, but Molly at Sunday dinner. She’d tutted over them and told them a not-at-all pointed story about a fight she and Arthur had had when they were young, and how important it was to cut one another some slack.

“Have you been having lots of nightmares since coming home?” Draco’s voice was hushed. Harry could see the edges of his features in the bit of light filtering in from the hallway. He looked concerned.

“Fair bit,” Harry shrugged.

“They’d been going away, before,” Draco said, frowning. “Have you told Healer Brady? You should.”

Harry hadn’t told Niamh, as the nightmares weren’t any worse than he’d remembered them being. “No, but I will, if you think I should. Sorry to have woken you. I forgot the silencing charm.”

An exasperated huff of air escaped Draco. “You’ve been silencing yourself? That explains it. You don’t need to apologize Harry. We are well practiced in dealing with one another’s nightmares.”

“I’m sorry for Friday. And Tuesday.”

After several heartbeats of silence, Draco said, “I appreciate that.”

Harry cleared his throat, “I’m not sure I could manage to fall back asleep just yet…”

“Game of chess?” Draco asked, mirroring one of the memories Harry had watched. Draco had woken him from a nightmare after they’d fallen asleep researching late into the night. Draco had assured Harry that he would thrash him at the game.

In the last couple of weeks, Harry had watched Draco and Ron play enough rapid-fire games of chess to know he’d never have a chance against Draco.

“Yeah,” Harry said, pushing the blankets off and standing up.

For a moment there, he’d wanted to ask Draco to crawl into bed with him. To lay down next to him so Harry could touch him and feel his warmth and know that he was alive and well. Chess was probably a better choice for now.

\---

Harry slunk his way into the examination room. Before Niamh could utter what was clearly coming his way, given the unimpressed look on her face, Harry said, “I’m sorry. Really.”

Clucking her tongue, Niamh waved Harry to sit on the table. “You should be. Gave us both a terrible fright. I wasn’t kidding – you could’ve damaged your brain permanently.”

“It won’t happen again. I swear I’ve learnt my lesson.”

Rather than reply, Niamh began to cast her diagnostic charms. After a moment she said, “Well, your vitals are still strong. How’ve you been feeling?”

“Other than the first day afterwards, great. Draco was able to help me untangle the order of the memories reasonably well."

“Well that’s something then. Headaches or nausea since that first day?”

“Nope. Even went for a run. And got shouted at. Not even the tiniest headache.” Harry said this with some degree of pride for his own resiliency.

Shaking her head resignedly, Niamh replied, “You’re something else, Potter. I suppose you want to know about starting memories again?”

He grinned cheekily.

“One a day only. For this first week at least. If you have any headaches, dizziness, confusion you stop reviewing immediately. And you book back in with me before continuing to watch anymore. Got it?”

Harry nodded at the finger that was waving threateningly in his face. “Yes ma’am.”

“I’ll be owling Draco to let him know as well. If you consent to me doing so, that is.”

Given that it would probably make Draco feel more secure in Harry’s ability to control himself if he knew the plan, Harry agreed. “Tell him I’ve said you could write him, though,” he tacked on. “I want him to know I’m taking it serious.”

\---

“You don’t have to come with me,” Harry frowned.

Draco was looking deeply uncomfortable as he set the pensieve down on the table.

“Healer Brady said you might need to stop in the middle of a memory if you develop a headache or confusion. I’m coming. Especially since you’ll be starting with technically two memories.”

At this, Harry perked up, “I will be?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, grimacing. “I wrote back to Healer Brady to ensure it was alright. Because the next two memories on the roster were really one situation. It’s just split between me and Molly.” At the confused look on Harry’s face, he added, “Remember the newspaper with the photograph of you carrying me unconscious down Diagon Alley?”

_Oh._

Ron chose that moment to helpfully pipe in, “I swear I saw red when Hermione opened the paper that morning.”

He held his hands up in surrender when both Harry and Draco glared at him.

Turning back to Draco, Harry said, “Ron could come with me, maybe? It doesn’t seem like it’ll be a pleasant one for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco replied tersely.

“I’m just here for emergency support,” Ron said, wrinkling his nose at the idea of having to watch the memory. Hermione was supposed to have joined them as well, but had gotten held up at work.

Draco raised his brows at Harry, then dumped the first memory into the pensieve and gestured to him as though it were an open door, “After you.”

They landed in a dark alleyway, where their past-selves were going over the plan they’d made to trap the dementors one last time. Looking between them, Harry wasn’t sure whether the past or current version of Draco looked more anxious.

“Let’s stand over there,” Draco tugged Harry to a spot at the open edge of the alleyway.

They watched as their past-selves headed to their respective locations to prepare. After a few moments, Draco hissed and pulled Harry out of the way of three dementors which came gliding past them and into the alley.

“Didn’t think this position through,” Draco shuddered. “Are you still feeling okay?”

“Yes,” Harry studied Draco with concern, “Are you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Turning back to the scene, Harry watched as the Dementors approached his past-self and as Draco’s past-self snuck behind them to cast a shapeless patronus. Harry’s patronus immediately followed, and between the two of them they pushed the dementors over to an intersecting alley, where a talisman glowed on the ground. Harry held his breath as Draco raised his wand and cast another spell, causing the scene to light up with blinding light.

He heard Draco mumble “Oh no,” and the scene became blurry, fading to black. The next second Harry was back at his kitchen table, with Draco sitting opposite him, looking green.

“What the fuck happened?” Harry asked, heart racing.

“As you told it later, I’d poured too much power into the talisman and fell unconscious. The dementors went for me. Your patronus drove them off.” Draco siphoned the memory out of the pensieve and back into its vial, replacing it with a memory labelled in Molly’s purple. “It’ll pick up here.”

Rolling his eyes at the dubious look Harry was giving him, Draco added, “I’m obviously fine, Harry.”

This time, they landed behind Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Harry looked down at their past-selves, entirely ignoring Molly as she rushed towards them.

“ _Fuck_.”

They both looked awful. Harry was slumped against a wall, trembling violently, with Draco in his arms. Draco looked disturbingly close to dead. Greyed and slack in his unconscious state. Without thinking about it, Harry reached out to grasp the present-Draco’s hand next to him. Draco intertwined their fingers and held on tightly.

Molly managed the situation quickly, getting Harry back on his feet and ushering him to carry the unconscious Draco back to his flat. Harry kept his hold on Draco’s hand while they followed them along.

Draco craned his neck down the street as they walked, but the edges appeared fuzzy in the memory. “I wish she’d caught sight of the damned photographer,” he grumbled.

Harry ignored him, feeling sick as he kept his eyes on the unwell Draco of the past. “Why the fuck didn’t we go to Mungo’s? You clearly needed to be brought to Mungo’s.”

He could feel panic welling up in him just watching this. Never mind that Draco was alive and well next to him. His warm hand in Harry’s.

“I’d made you promise not to,” Draco said, apologetically.

“You-” Harry gaped, unable to comprehend this.

Shaking his head he turned back and watched as Molly treated Draco and then asked Harry the very same question.

“Can’t believe I fucking listened to you.”

“Molly was able to manage it just fine,” Draco swallowed heavily, looking uncertain.

The memory faded out and once more, Harry and Draco were in their warm kitchen next to Ron. Draco took a deep breath and then pushed his chair back from the table.

“I think,” He said in a wavering voice, “I’ll just pop over to the Burrow for a bit, say hello to Molly.”

Harry blinked at the fireplace as Draco disappeared into the floo. He glanced towards Ron.

“That was fucking awful.” He moved to stand. “I should go after him.”

“No,” Ron reached out to grab his shoulder. “Trust me, don’t.” When Harry eased himself back into his chair, Ron added, “I’d better ask or Draco’ll be angry – how are you feeling?”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Sorry for the slow burn torture ;P   
> I unfortunately can't promise that I'll maintain this frequency of updates, but I have a few chapters written in advance now which I like to do before posting so that if I need to shift and iron out some plot points I have more space, so I'll do my best!


	14. Figuring it Out

Walking down Diagon Alley side by side with Draco was strange. People were staring at them. Not that Harry wasn’t used to it. Or to being scrutinized. But it felt as though every aspect of them was being analyzed for gossip fodder. Could people tell the current state of their relationship based on how closely they were walking? The way their heads tilted as they talked to one another?

Was it obvious that they were still a little uncomfortable together? Was it obvious that Harry was getting closer to falling properly in love with Draco? Or that he was holding back because he was scared by how quickly his feelings were developing? Maybe they could tell that Harry and Draco were both feeling uneasy about the task they were headed towards.

“Do you remember that the first time we met was at Madam Malkin’s?” Harry asked, leaning his head towards Draco so he could keep his voice low.

“To be honest,” Draco gave him a rueful smile. “I had to really scrape my memory for it. I was such a self-absorbed snob. It wasn’t until you told me I’d insulted Hagrid that I remembered it properly.”

“Ah well,” Harry shrugged. Hagrid and Draco seemed to be good mates nowadays. Hermione had told Harry that had been the result of Draco’s apology campaign the previous winter.

Reaching the door to Madam Malkin’s Harry pushed it open and looked around. In response to the bell on the door tingling cheerfully, a young blonde woman emerged from a room in the back.

“Oh!” Astoria exclaimed, looking from Harry to Draco with trepidation.

Clearing his throat nervously, Draco took a step forward. “Astoria,” he greeted formally, bowing his head towards her. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

She beamed. The woman looked like an angel on earth. Harry had to remind himself that Draco was firmly gay as jealously squirmed in his gut. And, of course, they were there to determine if she’d been involved in the crime of assaulting him and erasing his memory. Which was not on most people’s check list of desirable traits when seeking a romantic partner.

“You’re not intruding at all, Draco. Tuesday evenings are terribly quiet. Would you like some tea?”

Draco turned to Harry, a question in his eyes. When Harry shrugged Draco turned back to Astoria and accepted her offer. She guided them into a back room where some plush chairs sat outside of a series of dressing stalls.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” she said in a tone that was either phenomenal acting or truly genuine. Addressing the elf that entered the room she added, “Thank you, Sable.”

The house-elf (apparently a free elf, dressed in a well-tailored suit) nodded as she poured steaming tea into three cups and passed it around.

“Astoria, I’m not sure if you’ve ever met Harry. Harry, this is Astoria,” Draco said.

He was different, smoothly practicing his purebred manners, Harry thought. Draco seemed much more himself at Grimmauld or the Burrow.

“Lovely to meet you Harry. And if I may be so bold as to say it in our first interaction, thank you for saving me and Draco both from what would have been a terribly dull life.”

Draco frowned. “A… what?”

“Dull life, Draco darling. We both would have hated it equally.”

Harry couldn’t help but snort at the look on Draco’s face, which caused him to choke on his tea and begin to cough violently.

“I mean… I know you said you were fine with it all. But I didn’t know you felt quite _that_ way,” Draco said once he’d determined Harry wasn’t likely to drown himself in his tea.

“Well Draco, I didn’t think it would be quite so tactful at the time to exclaim with pure joy. But since then you’ve found a partner – although I’m terribly sorry to hear about what’s happened to you both, I can’t imagine how anyone could be so hateful as to do such a thing to another person- and my parents have moved to France where they leave me largely alone.”

Draco murmured his appreciation for her sympathy, then asked, “So you’re happy?”

“Wonderfully so. Madam Malkin is training me up to become primary owner and manager of the shop when she retires. I get to design the latest fashions. I do all sorts of amazing custom work. Oh!” Astoria lit up as she looked to Harry, “If you know anyone looking for a gown or dress robes made, do send them my way! Custom work really is the most fulfilling.”

Clearing his throat once more, Draco asked, “So your parents have been in the continent?”

“Oh yes,” Astoria said. “For nearly a year now. They’re much more relaxed. They just were so exhausted with all the pureblood politics. Especially when so much of it didn’t agree with their values. I think they were rather relieved that the wedding arrangements were cancelled so they didn’t have to deal with all of it.”

“I recall your father being quite… miffed when I broke off the engagement,” Draco ventured, a line of consternation on his brow.

“Oh, yes well… I suppose he was at first. But that was just because he worried I was upset and he felt it his duty to protect me. Once he’d realized I was happier to be free of the expectation we’d had since – what age? We were young, anyways- he was just fine to move on and forget about it all.”

And yet, Harry thought, Narcissa Malfoy had cut her son out of her life altogether as a result? At least, that was Harry’s impression of the situation.

“Right. Well I’m glad to see you’re getting on so well, Astoria.”

“Thank you,” she reached to squeeze Draco’s hand. “But I’ve been terribly rude. Talking so much. How are the both of you? Has your recovery been going alright, Harry?”

They stayed to chat with Astoria for a while. As they were gathering up their cloaks to head back into the cold winter air, Draco squeezed in one last question.

“Astoria, we’ve got no leads on who may have attacked Harry. I’m not really involved in any pureblood events anymore… have you heard any whisperings?”

“I’m sorry Draco,” Astoria looked sympathetic. “I try to steer any conversation to my business and do my darndest to keep away from the vile gossip.”

Draco thanked her and pressed a kiss to her cheek before holding the door open for Harry. A chill winter wind had picked up while they’d been inside, and they both hunched their shoulders against it.

“I hadn’t seen her since breaking off the engagement,” Draco noted. “I’d thought she’d be a least a little unhappy to see me. I couldn’t possibly believe that she or her family had anything to do with it. But maybe she’s just pulled the fleece right over my eyes?”

“Nah,” Harry shook his head. “Seemed pretty sincere to me. She’s interesting. Reminded me of Luna a little. Maybe I should give Luna her details. I bet they’d have a great time designing custom gowns together.”

“Yeah,” Draco smiled at Harry before letting it drop and heaving a sigh. “That wasn’t exactly helpful though, was it?”

Harry shrugged, “We’ll figure it out.”

\---

They weren’t anywhere near figuring it out though. They’d found nothing but signs of someone disillusioned from the surveillance video footage which Ron had (somewhat furtively) acquired. The wavy outline of the disillusioned person was in alignment with what the Aurors said – Harry had been hit from behind by someone taller than himself by at least several inches. The cameras hadn’t caught any witnesses for them to track down.

Pansy and Neville had both begun to sniff around the pureblood society looking for any rumours about who might have been behind the attack, but nothing had turned up. Harry hadn’t yet bothered to request another meeting with Longeman, but he was getting rather impatient for the Auror to provide him with an update as he’d so kindly reassured Harry he would.

Harry and Draco had become more comfortable with one another. Not comfortable enough to progress in their relationship, mind (even though Harry was beginning to wish they would). Just comfortable enough to be crabby with each other when they were stressed. Which, as Harry’s assault was now nearly a full month ago, was just about constantly.

With stress, Draco became rigid and unyielding, while Harry became sarcastic and lazy. They’d bicker, hide in different parts of the house for a while, and then pretend nothing had ever happened.

And all the while Harry was slowly making his way through the rest of the lost memories. He’d now reviewed the aftermath of the failed attempt to trap the dementors (a fight resulting in them avoiding one another for several days, Draco showing up distraught on his doorstep due to the damned Prophet article, another fight about going back on patrols again, and a bit of a fight and subsequent make-up with Ron as well), and a brief Christmastime interaction with Ginny that, in retrospect, made it clear she knew their relationship was coming to an end soon, though his past-self didn’t seem to know it yet.

Watching himself fight with Draco like he’d done, all because Draco had put himself in danger, made Harry’s heart constrict. He’d always worried about his friends, of course. He hated that any of them were ever in danger simply because of how some prophecy and a madman had steered Harry’s life. But he couldn’t say he’d ever felt so passionately against one of them putting themselves in that position. Now, at least, he could understand why Draco was so upset with him when he’d gone out for that run just days after the reckless memory binge.

But all the same, he couldn’t seem to keep himself from having little rows with Draco over the stupidest things. One afternoon, while helping George out at the shop as an excuse to get out of the house, Harry vented about it all.

“It’s just ridiculous. He loses his mind entirely if I’ve left a jumper over the armchair in the drawing room.” Harry threw a container of Poltergeist Putty into a storage bin too hard and it popped open. The green putty sprang out of the container and attached itself to his face.

George reached out to peel it off, laughing, “I love this stuff.” He ignored Harry’s complaint as he prodded it back into its container with his wand. “Pansy reckons the two of you need to fuck it out.”

“ _What_?!”

“You know, relieve all that tangible sexual tension that’s always hovering in the air between the two of you.”

“ _George!_ ”

“Oh please, you sound more prudish than Hermione.”

At that, Harry ‘accidentally’ let another putty loose in George’s direction, which caused sufficient distraction.

Was George right though? Harry couldn’t help but wonder if the only way he and Draco had been able to get along in their relationship was because they’d had another outlet. But no, that couldn’t be. They’d been working together, been friends for months before they were in a relationship. They’d managed to spend every day together for platonic purposes and still fall in love.

Maybe this was different though? This time Draco was missing something he hadn’t had the opportunity to miss before.

\---

A stir-fry was sizzling away on the stove when Draco and Ron walked into the kitchen. Harry turned around to greet them with a smile, which immediately faltered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Draco was looking paler than usual, with a mask of cool indifference that Harry had been seeing less and less lately. Ron was the sort of blotchy purplish red colour he only turned when he was absolutely livid.

“Longeman took Draco in for interrogation about your case today!” Ron yelled.

Harry’s eyes immediately landed on Draco, he studied his face intently, looking for the little cracks in his demeanor. His mouth pulled down at the corner just a little and his eyes were like dark tunnels. He didn’t even respond to Gandalf as the puppy tried to climb his way up Draco’s leg for attention.

“What?” Harry asked. “Didn’t they already get your statement back when this first happened?”

Draco shrugged, “The case is going cold. It makes sense to talk to me again.”

“I was watching, Draco. It was a fucking interrogation,” Ron snapped.

“Ron,” Harry asked, frowning, “would you take over the stir fry?”

He walked over to Draco and grabbed him gently by the shoulders, “Sit,” he instructed, guiding him into a chair. He was trembling slightly.

The few meetings that Harry had had with Longeman had not improved Harry’s opinion of the man from his poor first impression. Longeman was also teaching the trainee Aurors their Basics in Investigative Techniques course. Not that he’d needed the confirmation after what Longeman had insinuated during his conversations with Harry, but Ron had told Harry that Longeman didn’t like Draco. Draco would never say as much himself.

Harry crouched down next to Draco’s chair, so he could look up at his downcast face. “You okay?” Harry asked quietly, leaving a gentle hand on Draco’s forearm.

“Fine,” Draco replied, lips tight.

Clenching his jaw, Harry shook his head. He went to fix tea for Draco and tried his best to get his anger under control before he sat back down to offer it to him. Gandalf had made his way into Draco’s lap and had curled there contentedly, which seemed to have relaxed Draco a little.

“I’m going to talk to them,” Harry said.

“No, don’t.”

“Why not?”

Draco looked at him resignedly. “Because it won’t make any difference.”

“Like hell it won’t! If there are people out there who are still stupid enough to believe that you’ve not only managed to manipulate me, but nearly every other person of notable importance from the war, they need to be set straight. And Longeman’s just a bully, plain and simple.”

“Harry,” Draco sighed, pulling his arms off the table so Ron could angrily thunk a plate of dinner in front of him, “you hate throwing around your reputation. Don’t do it for this. It’s fine, really.”

“No it isn’t!” Harry shouted.

“Okay,” Draco replied, reaching to grab Harry’s hand for a moment. “It isn’t, you’re right. But it is what it is and I don’t think they’re going to pursue me as a suspect, so it doesn’t matter.”

“And Head Auror Parker specifically recruited Draco, so that means something,” Ron added in a bolstering tone.

Harry gnawed on his lip for a moment before conceding, “Alright.”

He met Ron’s eyes gravely. Ron nodded, silently promising Harry that he’d look out for Draco.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Valentine's Day update (sorry this chapter was a bit more angst than romance!) Thanks for reading, I'd delight in any feedback/comments :)
> 
> As George suggests, at some point this story will become a little more explicit. It won't be largely smutty, so the rating will stay at just mature, but for anyone coming over from Shameful Company you can expect more than that story and its teen rating.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy everyone.


	15. Row by Row

The next morning, Harry was trying to scrawl some finishing touches on his essay before sending it off to Hogwarts with Oscar when Draco walked into the kitchen.

“Only one memory today, Harry.”

“Mhm,” Harry nodded, glancing up at Draco with exasperation. On their last appointment together, Niamh had insisted Harry complete one more week of a single memory a day before considering increasing them once more. He supposed Draco was worried that with Harry’s next appointment being just a couple of days away now, he might be tempted to up his memory dose without prior approval. “Good morning, Draco. Tea’s steeping for you.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, before heaving a meaningful sigh. “Harry, if you’re going to insist that Kreacher not help in the kitchen, could you at least make sure that the dishes don’t pile up in the sink like this?”

Ire instantly rose up in Harry. “Those dishes are from my breakfast.”

He’d have made some for Draco too, if he didn’t like to wait till after his combat class to eat.

“There’s dishes from last night in here, too,” Draco shot back, turning his nose up at the kitchen sink. “You know it causes Kreacher to become upset if you won’t allow him to do it but then won’t even do it yourself.”

“Would you just sod off?” Harry snapped. “I’ll do them soon as I’m done with this.”

He froze in the middle of waving an emphatic hand towards his essay, realizing he’d pushed a button. Draco had gone completely rigid, and cast his eyes towards the floor, a curtain of his hair blocking his expression from Harry.

Shit. Why couldn’t Harry manage to control his temper, for at least the morning after Draco’s tough day? Draco was probably just stressed about the idea of going back to his training after the way he’d been treated by Longeman.

After a long moment, Draco began to speak in a stilted tone. “I know that you don’t remember, Harry, but please don’t use language meant as a derogatory slur against our sexuality; I don’t enjoy hearing it.”

Harry’s heart plummeted. He squeezed his eyes closed. _Fuck._

He stood from his chair and turned to face Draco. “I’m – God… I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right and I’d never even thought about it.”

Brushing his hair back, Draco turned his face towards Harry. His grey eyes were sad as he opened his mouth to reply only to settle for a stiff nod instead.

“I-” Harry scrubbed at the back of his head, at a loss.

This wasn’t the first time he’d hurt Draco over the last several weeks, especially as their bickering had begun to pick up recently. Harry felt awful enough about the rowing (though he felt equally as frustrated) but he’d also been making thoughtless misstep after thoughtless misstep. He’d notice Draco hold back his reactions, only showing the smallest signs of upset. His eyes would tighten a little, or the corner of his mouth would twitch. And he would never tell Harry _why_. Harry assumed Draco didn’t want to further risk the very delicate state of their current progress. And in turn, Harry didn’t want to push Draco to be honest if he didn’t want to be.

And while he didn’t know exactly what he’d done to cause those dozens of small, quiet injuries, Harry knew exactly how badly he’d hurt Draco by risking his progress during his memory binge and his safety by sneaking out on the Auror watch, And he knew the quarrelling was wearing on them both.

With a realization that felt like an anchor pulling Harry into the depths of the Atlantic he said, “Draco… I know that I asked you not to give up.” Harry swallowed thickly, “But if this is too hard, I – I’d understand.”

“ _What?_ ” Draco hissed scathingly.

“I mean, I’ve done nothing but fuck up. And I know this is hard for you. I don’t want you to feel forced to keep trying, is all…”

Harry trailed away in the face of Draco’s ferocious expression.

Taking a step away from the counter so he was within two feet of Harry, Draco asked in a deathly quiet voice, “Do you think I am the kind of man who doesn’t honour his word?”

Harry winced apologetically but couldn’t pull his thoughts into a proper response. Which was just as well, because evidently Draco was winding up for a good rant.

“If you do, then you haven’t gotten to know me well enough yet!” Draco shouted. “Or maybe it’s just that you still think I’m only in it if it’s easy? We,” he waved his hand sharply between them, “have _never_ been easy. Do you think that I gave up my heritage, my mother, easily? On a passing whim? No! I did it because I am committed to you. To our relationship.”

He paused to catch his breath and Harry, biting painfully into his lower lip, watched him anxiously, still unable to think of what to say.

“Harry,” Draco shook his head slowly, his eyes piercing Harry, “I’ve not said this because I’ve worried it would be too much for you, but I love you. It would take a hell of a lot more than some forgotten sore spots for me to ever even think of walking away from you.”

Merlin. Harry’s heart jolted uncomfortably back into its proper location.

Finally he managed to pull together some words. “I just… I keep hurting you. I notice you covering up your reaction whenever I say the wrong thing, you know. And just… we’ve clearly been getting on one another’s nerves lately.”

With a small smile, Draco took another step closer to Harry. “Do you imagine that we’ve always gotten along splendidly?”

Harry gave a surly shrug.

“We haven’t,” Draco clarified. “We fought sometimes. You make me want to rip out my hair, or maybe yours, not infrequently. It took a lot of work, to get to know one another. To figure out where our boundaries are and how to talk through problems with one another. I imagine we’ll keep figuring it out for a long time yet. But we’re both committed to working through them, and every time we fight we learn more about how to be better partners to one another. That’s what matters. We’re fighting _for_ each other.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed heavily. “Suppose that makes sense.”

Suddenly Draco’s sweet smile twisted nervously. “There’s something I should’ve told you a while ago. But I suppose I was too much of a coward to.”

Harry frowned, “Okay…”

“We were having a fight the night you were attacked. Over… fuck, I don’t even know,” Draco dragged his hands down his face. “We were both just tired and grouchy, I think. You said you needed some time and went out for your run. And then…” Draco’s voice broke.

“Hey,” Harry whispered, closing the gap between them and resting his hands on Draco’s forearms, pulling Draco’s palms away from his face so Harry could look up into his eyes. “It’s alright. I know that. It doesn’t matter.”

“You do? I- I haven’t even told anyone.”

“Longeman interviewed Kreacher after the attack.”

“Oh,” Draco looked shocked. “I was so… I was so messed up I didn’t even think about how of course they would talk to Kreacher. How did I not even realize that they would in the last few weeks though? Merlin, I’m going to be a terrible Auror… Damnation, Longeman already hated me. That’s why he’s been… _Fuck_ I’m so stupid. He asked if there was anything I’d forgotten to tell him that about that night and I said no. I’ve made myself look so suspicious.”

“Draco,” Harry said firmly, drawing his attention back. “I _know_ you had nothing to do with the attack, okay?”

The look in Draco’s eyes told Harry he’d very much needed to hear those words.

“And,” Harry continued, “I’ve made that clear to Longeman. I will continue to make it clear. I am fighting for you.” 

With teary eyes, Draco looked up to the roof and rolled his lips into his mouth for a moment. “I… I don’t care what they think of me really. The rest of the world has never understood. I just – I need you to know who I am."

“I think,” Harry said, tightening his grip on Draco’s arms just slightly, “I’m coming to know who you really are. You’re clever and determined. You’ve got a soft spot the size of the UK for animals and kids. And you are not going to be a terrible Auror. You’re going to be a brilliant one.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Draco bit down on a smile, blinking back his tears. “Fuck,” he muttered, “I’ve got to go to training.”

“Go,” Harry grinned. “The dishes will be clean when you get home!”

Draco swatted him on the arm before stepping away. He nodded to Harry before heading up the stairs. 

\---

That afternoon Auror Longeman requested a meeting with Harry for the following day.

“About damn time,” Harry grumbled to the Ministry owl as he scribbled a response insisting that the meeting occur after five o’clock in the afternoon.

Longeman, out of spite Harry expected, scheduled the meeting for precisely five o’clock. Probably Longeman had realized the reason Harry wanted the meeting later in the day was to ensure that Draco could be present, and five o’clock would make it so Draco would need to apparate immediately after his last lecture and wouldn’t have even a moment to catch his breath at home first.

Kreacher, thankfully, acting for once as the well-trained elf serving an ancient pureblood family that he was, skilfully guided Longeman into the sitting room and left him waiting with tea. Though Draco preferred to apparate home, today he opted for the floo so that he could give himself a moment to prepare in the kitchen first. Harry paced the kitchen anxiously until the flames flashed green and, with a whoosh, out strolled Draco. He may not like floo travel, but he was certainly able to manage it with more grace than Harry.

“How was your day?” Harry asked worriedly.

With a smile slightly stifled with anxiety, Draco said, “Fine, thanks Harry.”

Kreacher appeared in front of them, offering a glass to Draco, “A cup of water, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Thank you, Kreacher.”

Draco drained it and set it next to the sink with a thud. “He’s here?”

“Yup.”

“Well, best get to it.”

“United front,” Harry said firmly.

Longeman stood from his chair when they walked into the room. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Auror Longeman,” Draco greeted pleasantly, while Harry stared Longeman down with flashing eyes. “Please, sit. How is the tea?”

“Just fine, thank you,” Longeman replied glibly, taking his seat again. “I wanted to provide Mr. Potter with an update on the case. Mr. Potter, perhaps you’d prefer to speak about such things privately?”

“No, I’d prefer Draco to be here.”

Harry turned to Draco and meaningfully flicked his eyes towards the couch. He waited for Draco to settle on it before sitting next to him and turning to Longeman.

“We continue to look into the gang lead by the Dolohovs, but at this point it is not a strong enough lead to result in any charges being placed.”

Next to Harry, Draco was sitting so rigidly he looked as though he might snap.

Longeman continued, “We have no other leads at this point in time.” The Auror’s eyes drifted significantly towards Draco and Harry clenched his jaw. “Given that it has now been one month since your assault with no further signs of malicious behaviour towards you, Mr. Potter, we will be removing the Auror detail from your house.”

There was only the briefest of moments for Harry to revel in delight at the news.

“You’ll _what?_ ” Draco snapped, leaning forward and fixing Longeman with eyes like flint. “With no progress made on the case you’ll be pulling his security detail?”

Longeman ignored Draco entirely. “Of course, Mr. Potter, we still recommend you bring a trusted and trained wizard or witch along with you when you are outside of your home. Given that your home has a fidelius charm on it, we don’t believe you will be in any form of danger at your home, and it seems unlikely that maintaining an Auror guard at your doorstep will lead us to apprehending the assailant at this point in time.”

Draco jumped to his feet, “The fidelius charm has been compromised for _years_ now! Death Eaters followed Harry back here shortly after Voldemort’s coup of the Ministry!”

Harry had forgotten about that entirely back when Longeman had been going over the safety measures that were needed for Harry’s return home. At the time Longeman had listed the fidelius as a strong additional protection.

“Trainee Malfoy,” Longeman said coolly, finally turning to look at Draco, “I recommend you remember your tenuous position within the DMLE as well as the way your past actions reflect on you in the current circumstances.”

Harry was up in a millisecond, the lights in the room flickering dangerously around him. “Longeman,” he gritted out, “Did you just threaten my partner in our home?”

“Certainly not, Mr. Potter. I fear you’ve both misunderstood me. Regardless, the DMLE does not have bottomless funds to monitor your home, and we believe you will be quite safe without the Auror detail.”

“That’s fine,” Harry snapped. “If that’s all, I think Kreacher will see you to the door.”

Kreacher appeared in the room, and firmly guided Longeman out, a dour look on his wrinkled face.

“Fucker,” Harry muttered fiercely. He fumed for a moment before realizing that Draco hadn’t moved or said anything since Longeman departed. “You alright?”

Draco blinked at him, “You… you called me your partner.”

_Oh._ “Yes, er, well… seemed like the closest to correct, I suppose?”

Smiling softly, Draco said, “You made the lights flicker.”

“Did I?” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck. “Been a while since I’ve lost control of my magic. Wish it’d given that arse a jolt. He’d have deserved it.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Draco stepped forward and wrapped Harry in a tight hug. Harry could practically feel the words _I love you_ in the embrace.

\---

“Draco?” Harry’s tone was hushed, so as not to startle him.

Draco hummed slightly in response, not moving his despondent gaze from the fire. He had a hand resting on Gandalf who was curled up in his lap, and he didn’t appear to be taking any notice of Oscar tugging the tie in his hair until strands came loose.

Coming to stand next to Draco’s armchair, Harry gently lifted Oscar and set him down on the couch instead. He sat down cross legged in front of the fire and looked up at Draco.

“You alright?”

Draco shrugged, “Reasonably.”

“Ron was out of line.”

“Was he? I mean, the woman cut me out of her life entirely because I’m gay.”

Following Longeman’s departure Harry had flooed Ron and Hermione to come over. They’d arrived within seconds, Ron holding a pot of stew. Evidently they’d been waiting on tenterhooks to hear how the meeting with Longeman had gone.

Over dinner they’d combed over their notes of possible suspects. Their conversation with Astoria had reassured them that the Greengrasses were not the direction to carry on in. And the supposed lead on the Dolohov-family seemed pretty weak.

After hours of circular conversation (where they’d ruled out several people on their _Might Hate Harry and Draco Both_ list due to the information that Pansy and Neville had been able to dig up on the whereabouts of different pureblood families including the Goyles, who’d fled to the Americas, and the surviving members of the Yaxley family), Ron had raked his hands through his hair and voiced it.

“I hate to say it mate, but do you think your mother could have had anything to do with it?”

Draco went pale and it was Harry who had shut down the idea.

Now, seeing the despairing reluctance in Draco’s eyes, Harry’s heart ached. He was grateful for the warmth of the fire at his back and how its soft light somehow lessened the harshness of the topic.

“She lied to Voldemort just to make sure you were safe.”

Draco flinched a little at the name. He met Harry’s eyes, “You really don’t think she was involved?”

“I really believe there was no way she was involved,” Harry replied solemnly.

At this, Draco nodded, his gaze drifting back to the fire, a troubled furrow to his brows.

“Thanks, Harry. It’s just hard. The proper investigation is clearly going nowhere. We’re not doing any better. And…” Draco’s mouth twisted and Harry knew he was fighting off tears.

“You know,” Harry said on impulse, “I’ve dealt with a lot of truly fucking evil people in life. But Gilderoy Lockhart was the worst of them all.”

A slight smile lifted Draco’s lips and Harry felt thoroughly successful. “Lockhart? Really? That buffoon?”

Nodding solemnly, Harry explained, “He went around erasing people’s memories to make himself famous. He stole their lives. I doubt he was particularly discriminate about what memories he took, either. I bet some of them lost their memories of people they cared about, too. It impacts so many more people than the intended victim.”

“Yeah,” Draco whispered, angrily swiping at a tear trailing down the side of his nose. “Lockhart really did that? Why isn’t that common knowledge?”

Harry shrugged, “I mean, I imagine if it’d all happened a couple of years later Hermione would’ve made sure it was exposed. As it was, we were twelve and Lockhart’s brain was so muddled that there wouldn’t even be a chance to identify who his victims were anyways.”

“Merlin. So… every one of his books?”

“True stories, apparently. Just not _his_ true stories.”

Draco gnawed on his lip for a moment. “What a bastard.”

“Yup.” Harry ran his fingers through the soft pile of the rug. “We’ll find whoever did this. We will.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) Like some of you, I too, am getting impatient for them to kiss! So I thought I'd post this chapter early to get us a little bit closer to that moment. I do love a good slow burn though ;P Just like I love reading your comments, so thank you <3


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